vas æneum
by FreyrFnk
Summary: AU. Writing for NaNoWriMo. Incomplete - will not be completed.
1. Knockturn Alley

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

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**Chapter 1:**

**Knockturn Alley**

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Two figures slipped through the majorly empty streets of Knockturn Alley, it was around midday and the lull in shoppers since the war was rather dramatic compared to its previous popularity. While many of the shops were raided by Aurors seeking to purge any lasting 'dark artifacts' there was not enough evidence located to shut down a shop or really justify the searches other than being 'precautionary'. Truly, it was just the lingering traces of fear since Voldemort's downfall urging them to eradicate even the slightest temptation or opportunity to follow or continue the mad-man's work.

A similar purging afflicted many of the pureblood families, save those known to work against Voldemort. The Zabini's and Parkinson's among many others escaped due to their lack of involvement for either side, choosing to stand neutral rather than involve themselves. The Malfoy's bought themselves off on a series of testimonies provided by Harry Potter himself and names given by Lucius Malfoy pointing the Ministry toward other Death Eaters and supporters. The Goyle and Crabbe families weren't so lucky; lacking both the connections and knowledge to keep them from serving a decent sentence in Azkaban. Their children however, were given much more lee-way due to their ages and lack of direct involvement; most were simply referred to counseling or some form of community service. Most of which was directed at post-war clean-up. Donations for reparations were also a good way to dock sentencing or 'service' time.

So almost a year had passed in such a manner, and it was in the afterglow of trials and judicial pomp that Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini; along with a number of their Slytherin companions, retired to vacations. Many chose to venture abroad, others chose to stay near – but with an upcoming school term looming the two young men remained closer to 'home'. The majority of their time was spent in London; and most predominately Knockturn Alley. So far, their attentions were focused mainly on pubs or night-time clubs where many young witches and wizards passed the time and blew off the stress accumulated during the war. Although, many also avoided the alley due to Ministry scrutiny, but as nothing there was justifiably illegal – both counted it safe enough to venture through. Besides, it was rather hard to turn down a visit to Grody's Livery; a shop catering mostly to 'dark' families but which offered a vast selection of fine textiles and interesting cuts. It was rather… unique in much of its fashion and quite a step in the opposite direction than Madam Malkin's. Another favorite was; a sweet shop which was themed toward darker things.

It was this particular shop which the two young men slipped into, a small bell chiming their arrival and bringing a stooped old crone waddling from the back. She had course, graying hair and a hooked nose – much reminiscent of the late Professor Snape. Her eyes were small and yellow-green, and seemed to glimmer in the dimmed light of the shop. She smiled a crooked-toothed smile at them and croaked a welcome. Both were well known in the alley, almost all of the merchants more than happy to be of service to any rich family.

Draco slipped through shelves of chocolate, pastries and any number of sweet good; jellied eyeballs stored in small jars of red colored liquid, boxes of small sugared skulls, chocolate hearts filled with a fine caramel and gummy brains with a strawberry filling – to name a few. The prices were nothing to be laughed at and would make Honeydukes blush in shame with the decadency of some of the offerings. Being one with a sweet tooth, it didn't take the young Malfoy long to fill a bag and drop a sizeable amount of Galleons before slipping out. Blaise soon joined, commenting on how depressing it was the alley was so empty of late and together they set out for Aliestor's Apothecary. They were to meet up at a small pub later in the evening with Pansy Parkinson and her cohorts Daphne Greengrass, Hestia and Flora Carrow and Tracey Davis. Goyle Jr., sadly, had been rather reclusive since the death of Crabbe Jr. Theodore Nott, however, would potentially make an appearance. It was to be a sort of 'returning-to-Hogwarts' celebration.

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The sun was falling, casting Knockturn Alley in a more sinister light; setting the shadows of the old and grimy buildings aflutter with dark robbed magicians slipping through the streets and only the odd bellow of noise accompanying the witch or wizard exiting from a lively club. Draco slipped from the still-raging celebration and into the dark, cooling street, shoulders rolling back and head pleasantly abuzz from the liberal amounts of Firewhiskey sent round their little gathering. Theodore and Pansy vanished sometime earlier, likely back to a room at one of the small hotel's nearby. Blaise was working his charm on Daphne and the Carrow twins were being their usual cryptic selves and looming on the fringes of the festivities. Gray eyes scanned the empty streets, a part of Draco rather put-out by its vacancy. With little thought of a destination, not quite ready to call it a night, the blonde set off at a stroll, hands shoved into the pockets of fitted black robes and drooping eyes scanning the shadows for movement. It never hurt to keep alert, there were always those seeking vengeance lurking about.

So absorbed was he in his own musings, Draco was taken quite by surprise by a tap on the shoulder. He spun, wand already in hand, to face Blaise. With a scoff and a scowl at his smirking friend he turned away.

"Things not go as planned with Daphne?" There was a grunt in response as the two fell into step.

"Not really, far too drunk, that one – and I am a man of honor."

It was Draco's turn to smirk, casting a side-long glance at his friend but the dark-skinned boy gave no indication he noticed or cared. Their walk fell to silence, words not really needed, and the chill evening air did wonders for clearing the head.

"Where's that lead?"

Draco paused in his steps, glancing in the direction Blaise indicated with a nod. It definitely wasn't familiar, a side street. There were many in the alley – most leading to a residential area, but most of those were named and farther along than the one across the way.

"Dunno, don't recognize it."

With his own gesture and a shrug from Blaise, the two changed direction and slipped into the shadows of the walk. Both held wands clasped within their pockets and postures tensed ever-so in preparation. Being Slytherin, and former Death Eaters lent one an appreciation for being ready for anything – especially an untoward ambush in an unfamiliar dark alley at night. It was about four meters in before any sort of feature presented itself, doors with shop signs affixed next to them began to appear. The words were dark and mostly worn away, lit precariously by low-burning lanterns. It was after three of such doors that a particular shop caught their interest. There was no real reason why, it was the same worn wooden door with a small grimy window, with a rotting sign posted next to it, but a light flickered dimly inside and the figure of a person could be seen shuffling about within. The sign in the window read 'open' so with a cautious glance between them, Blaise opened the door and the two stepped inside, wands now drawn.

The interior was lit by caged candles and much resembled an antique store. Mirrors, old paintings, tapestries and china decorated the walls, old Baroque furniture littered the floor; an old vanity with a blackened mirror and silver serpent adornments stood to one side, a small table topped with sconces, jewelry boxes and trinkets stood to another. There were vases, sculptures and relics scattered throughout – many on unobtrusive surfaces; and in the back, a small counter with a curtained doorway behind. From this a wizard emerged, swathed in black robes and balding, he looked frail. His skin had a yellowing-paper quality that was obvious even from the distance (small though it may be), and his eyes were milky as though blind but he affixed them with a penetrating stare. He was most obviously involved in the Dark Arts, his magic was practically bathed in it and felt old, very old, as it practically slithered across their skin. Blaise cast him an uncertain look but before they could decide to leave the man spoke.

"Ah, welcome, welcome. It has been quite some time since I've visitors so young."

His voice was low and smooth, like a hiss; but world-weary – though not expected from one who looked so frail. Blaise and Draco nodded as he approached, relaxing marginally as he gestured about himself.

"Have you come searching for something? Perhaps there is an item I can interest you in?"

"Ah, not particularly. We seem to have stumbled upon this place by accident."

Blaise supplied as Draco glanced about, the longer he looked the more objects he seemed to find amid dust covered clutter.

"You've been here long? I've never noticed this place before."

The man smiled, a slow, enigmatic smile and chuckled. "Do come in, have a look about. I've been here for a great many years, though often I am not visited but by regular patrons."

Draco wondered at what sort of patrons would visit this place, its stock looked to cost a pretty Galleon. Blaise nodded to the man, offering him a smile and together they set off. Wandering about, driven by their own curiosity and the atmosphere which seemed to warm after the welcome of their host. It dawned rather late that the man never gave a name, but he'd once again vanished behind his curtained door. Draco almost immediately headed for the curious vanity. Were it not for the blacked mirror, which he found to be stone after sliding his fingers across it. Obsidian perhaps? Brows lifted he turned to closer scrutiny, caressing the wood which glimmered in the wan lighting; dark wood – ebony perhaps.

"Ahh, that is quite an old piece. It is said to have been used in blood rituals."

Draco turned, tensing as the old man loomed about three feet away, hands clasped behind his back. He raised a brow at the wizard, turning once again to the mirror.

"It is made of obsidian?" There was a nod of ascent.

"Indeed, said to be used for scrying. Not many use such a surface for things of that nature – although there is rumor that old rituals told how to do so."

Interesting. With a thoughtful hum he turned, locking eyes with Blaise who was peering at the hieroglyphic details of a black vase. The wizard zeroed in on him as well, perhaps seeking to lure them into a purchase with intriguing details of his merchandise.

"Ahh, a Vase of Cleopatra. One of the few of its kind. Not particularly magical, but most definitely a rare find – considering the muggles got their claws on the majority of her belongings."

There was a scathing note of disapproval to the wizard's voice that brought a smirk to both young men's faces. Indeed the muggles had managed to lay claim and underappreciate the many lost relics of the ancient world. Draco slipped away from the two, leaving Blaise to amuse the old man, and ventured toward the back of the shop. Nothing was really that interesting, a few relics that could be considered Dark Arts related, a few that seemed to emanate with magic – such as an old clay doll with strange eyes. It left a discomforting feeling in his gut so he moved on.

Several intriguing paintings caught Draco's eye, Renaissance work, he assumed, from the physique of the figures, a metallic glimmer drew his attention. At first glance, it seemed unobtrusive, almost bland but after a second take it drew him in. Almost subconsciously Draco moved toward it. The object was what could be described as an urn; it was spherical with a flared base and two handles, the top contained an edged circle that could've been a 'lid' of sorts but didn't appear to have a discernible seam. The urn itself seemed to be made of brass, there were runes carved into the front and back; black upon red. Runes he didn't recognize, which was quite something, given his aptitude for the subject and the extensive study. The top also had runes carved into it, a circular pattern etched into a sphere with a strange star in the center. His fingers twitched to touch the urn, though it emanated an almost gravitational aura, as though it were drawing energy in, sucking it away from the atmosphere and giving off its own, heady vibe. Not dark, but not light but a strange coagulation of the two. Power really, to put it simply; raw power.

Pale fingers closed around the two handles that curved gracefully from the surface, lifting the light urn and drawing it closer. Although, there was no real reason. It lacked minute details, quite simple if he were honest. Relatively boring except that it held his attention like nothing else. So focused was his study he failed to notice the presence behind him until it spoke, in a familiar smooth tone.

"What's that?"

Draco jerked, turning his head to peer at Blaise who held the Egyptian vase in hand and was looking at the urn with furrowed brows. The blonde lifted a shoulder carelessly, returning to his study.

"Not sure… do you know what these runes are?"

Blaise shook his head, frowning. He didn't quite like the thing, it felt strange. Repulsive almost and he thought about telling Draco to leave it be – but that was likely not to happen regardless of what he said. With a thoughtful sound Draco turned and headed for the counter, placing the urn atop as the old wizard shuffled behind it. The man's milky eyes flashed strangely as he peered at the urn then lifted his gaze to the young Malfoy.

"Curious object that, came all the way from Jerusalem. Interested in buying, are you?"

"How much?"

Gray eyes never left the brass urn, even as the question seemed to bring the wizard back to himself and he grunted, rubbing at his whisker covered chin for a moment.

"Hundred-fifty Galleons."

Draco gave a careless nod and after some counting handed over the stated sum before lifting the urn again, and hesitating.

"Is there something I can put this in?"

The man sighed and with a nod shuffled to his back room, returning shortly with a box to contain the parcel. Contained and wrapped, although inadvisable to attempt shrinking, Draco lifted his purchase and stepped back to await Blaise.

"You like the vase?"

It was his first question to the dark-skinned wizard as they stepped out of the little shop – the time considerably later than when they entered. Blaised smirked, eyes glimmering.

"It's my mum's birthday soon. Figured she would enjoy this."

Draco nodded his agreement and both young men set off for their hotel, light conversation passing easily between them, hushed in the empty streets of the alley as they strolled unhurriedly on their way.

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Three nights passed, with the wrapped parcel from the unnamed shop sitting in the bottom of Draco's wardrobe, in his room. Three nights it was but a buzzing after-thought in his subconscious, three nights he tossed and turned in sleep – waking from vivid dreams that slipped into a mist of the unknown as soon as he woke. It was a week, almost to the hour, before he would be boarding the Hogwarts Express at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for the final time, and Draco was becoming agitated. The buzzing was always at the back of his mind, always worrying him to focus on something – yet the focal point of this feeling eluded him every time he turned focus to it.

It was the fourth night when he pulled out the parcel, opened the box and peered down blankly at the brass urn within. The red leaking from behind the black grooves of the runes seemed to glimmer and glow in the dark of his room. In the silence, he swore it was calling to him, but perhaps that was merely the pull of its energy. Fingertips brushed against the top, barely grazing the runes and the ridged circle that contained them. He sought out the slightest hint of a seam, something to remove the top. Several moments of grazing the top, a near caress, Draco sighed in frustration and lifted the urn free of its box to stand next to him atop the floor. There, he proceeded to study the brass contraption – because now he thought about it, it really didn't look much like an urn. Now, one should be warned that having a glaring, stare contest with an inanimate object is not the best way to achieve results, but there was little Draco hadn't gotten in life simply by being obstinate and demanding it be so in one way or another… so why should this be different?

After some time the blonde flopped back, absently twirling his wand between nimble fingers. Hesitant though he was to perform magic on the thing, he was really out of options. With a grumble he sat forward, allowing the Hawthorn to rest comfortably in his palm as he mentally calculated the risks of magically bombarding what appeared to be an ancient, enchanted object of unknown origin. Sounded safe enough… Shaking his head, he raised his wand and murmured crisply.

"_Alohomora_." Nothing. Not that he expected anything really.

"_Aperire._"

"_Resigno._" Growling in frustration he ran a hand through his hair, and pondered a moment before nodding.

"_Dimittim._"

There was a click, a hiss and the runes burned a scorching red before darkening to a blue as flame exploded to life atop the lid. Gray eyes widened and the Slytherin jerked back, wand ready to cast a _Protego _should the stupid thing desire to explode. However, the flames exploded to life and died with little more than the resounding hiss, that seemed to linger in the room as a pall of energy doused the atmosphere. Draco shivered for the moment the sensation lasted, spreading out and away as it washed over he and his room ; and he wondered belatedly if his parents felt anything strange – or if the sensation even spread farther than his sizeable bedroom – not to even consider the opposite wing of the manor!

Hesitantly Draco shuffled forward, wand read as he peered into the skull-sized hole at the top of the sphere. A slow blink, and a frown tugged at the edges of his lips; the inside was filled half-way with… sand? He dipped a hand within, cupping a tiny amount in his palm and lifting for closer inspection. No, not sand. Salt. Sitting in the center of the salt was a box carved from ivory and atop that rested a coiled black serpent. Draco assumed it was preserved, like the Egyptians were won't to do. Palm tipping, the granules spilled back inside and he instead, carefully reached for the box. He carefully lifted the small snake, taking in the tiny hood slashed with a white 'V' and eyes that glimmered with some dark stone, with a twitch it came to life. Draco almost dropped the thing when it hissed, but it was already curling about his left middle finger, the smooth black body supple but cold. Ah! It wasn't a mummy after all, but an enchanted ring carved of black stone. Stone that sucked in light rather than reflecting it, but easily displayed the tiny detailed scales of the cobra. Draco smirked, holding his hand out with fingers splayed to observe the addition with appraising eyes. Eyes, it looked quite fine, a definite bonus to buying the urn. This ring was almost the opposite of the Mythril snake with glittering emerald eyes resting on his right ring finger; the Malfoy Heir's ring.

Next was the box, plain enough, a small square of ivory – undecorated and opened simply by lifting the lid. The box hit the floor with a clatter as Draco jerked away, nose wrinkled and face pulled into a grimace of disgust. Why the bloody hell did someone store a _heart _in a box?! It wasn't beating, wasn't rotten, but lay there perfectly innocent, a shriveled blackened mass in the center of the box. He snapped the lid back on it and returned it to the urn, mind still whirling with the discovery, it turned his stomach, to imagine where the heart came from. Or more importantly, _why_, it was inside the urn. The lid reformed, sans runes, as he drew his hand out and with a sigh Draco returned the urn to its box and into his closet.

'_At least I opened the bloody thing.' _

With those thoughts to cheer him, the young Malfoy climbed into bed for sleep. Another week until he returned to Hogwarts, another week until facing up to those in the war who would likely blame those in Slytherin who returned. No matter, Slytherin's stuck together, and after surviving the Dark Lord there was no way a bunch of _children _would best them.

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**A/N:**

Grody – different than standard or norm (used as surname in text)

Livery – to cover with apparel (more of a medieval connotation than alternatives)

Diable Confiseries – devil's confections (French)

Aperire – open (Latin)

Resigno – unlock (Latin)

Dimittim – release (Latin)


	2. Phantasmagory

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

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**Chapter 2:**

**Phantasmagory**

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_Sand spread out as far as the eye could see, rising in dunes and spilling over in great waves or fine mists as wind whipped across them. The sky was an unending, uninterrupted expanse of white. There was no sun, no clouds, no blue – only a lone shadowed moon looming far in the distance. Looking somehow smaller than he remembered. Before him were steps built of stone with massive pillars rising up toward the sky. It was impossibly big, as though scaled to giant proportions rather than human. _

_There was no heat, despite being in the middle of a desert. His bare feet didn't feel the sand, or the stone when he stepped across it, ascending the stairs was more like floating, being pulled forward rather than moving. Behind the twin pillars loomed a doorway. The walls were coated in imagery, carved as though telling a thousand stories – or perhaps just one, over and over. Inside light spilled, yellow and warm throughout a vast chamber with a raised platform in the back center – it led to another set of doors. He bypassed the basin in the middle of the chamber, rose up the steps and paused before a set of doors. Closed, locked, too heavy to open. They were made of some sort of metal… but maybe it was stone. _

_Slowly, he raised a hand, placed his palm flat against the seam in the doors and with a click they began to open, swinging back silent and graceful and he stepped through… _

'_Knock Knock Knock' _

Draco grumbled and rolled over, tugging black silk over his head with a grunt. It was too early to wake up, and he wanted to know what was on the other side of those doors. The knocking came again, a bit louder and more insistent, followed by his mother's impatient voice.

"Draco. Wake up! It is nearly evening and we've guests arriving in an hour."

He silently cursed, having forgotten about the Parkinsons arriving for dinner that night. Still, he lay there until the soft click of his mother's retreating steps faded to silence. He could go to sleep, claim he was under the weather. The thought was appealing, but he really didn't want to sit through the raging lecture about decorum and propriety and duty and whatever else a Malfoy heir must uphold come Hell or high water. So with a sigh he slid out of his over large bed and trudged into the bathroom for a steaming bath. His head felt fuzzy and now that he was waking more fully the dream seemed to be slipping away, no matter how hard he attempted to latch on to it. He found the black serpent refused to be removed from his finger so with a shrug Draco slid into steeping water that smelt of Sandalwood, with a sigh, delightful.

He pondered the dream as he bathed and stepped out to dry off. So much of his sleep since the Dark Lord's fall had been naught but nightmares. Screaming, blood, twisted bodies and the hissing body of Nagini darting through the fringe shadows. Better weird, hazy dreams he couldn't recall than those horrors. At least he managed to sleep a… more than decent amount of time. Thin fingers raked through his hair, shoving it back without gel. It was rather longer than during the war, a summer of no cuts allowing the platinum tresses to work their way toward the bottom of his jaw, though the fringe barely crested the tops of his eye brows. He was Heir now, officially, had been for a year. At eighteen it was time to start looking like an Heir, which meant growing his hair to the traditional length to just at his shoulders. He still had some way to go but by Winter Break it should be close enough.

Exiting his bathroom, Draco wandered through his wardrobe, pulling on a set of fine black dress robes with silver fastenings and polished, supple leather shoes. A final bit of posing in front of his full-length mirror, making small adjustments and he was satisfied. The door clicked softly behind him as Draco made his way to the ground floor, to a parlor equipped with a large white, marble fireplace and huge bay windows. The Parkinsons were already arriving when he strode in, Pansy smirking at him, knowing he'd overslept. His father turned with a disapproving look before inviting the family of three into the sitting room to take tea as they waited for supper to be completed.

Pansy and Draco sat some distance away from their parents, after the initial greetings, each sipping at cups of Earl Gray with small amounts of honey for sweetening. Pansy sighed as she placed her cup atop the small table between their chairs.

"Ready for Hogwarts?" He knew to what she was referring, and Draco smirked at her.

"Pans, after the Dark Lord a few students shouldn't be too bad."

"I'm not _worried _Draco, but it shall be incredibly annoying listening to all those Gryffindors go on about how awful Slytherins are. Do you think others besides our group will return?" He shrugged to this, not really caring so long as he had his friends about.

"Most likely. Their families weren't involved were they? It's the First Years we'll have to look after." She nodded, taking another sip of tea.

"And you're Head Boy, surprising they allowed returning Seventh Years to still claim positions like that." Draco rolled his eyes, not caring one way or the other.

"Granger probably wormed her way as Head Girl so McGonagall would have to name a Head Boy from the same year. Everyone knows she's the only other student with better marks than me."

"How very humble of you."

Draco smirked, taking a final sip of tea before the group moved to the dining hall, thankfully renovated since the Dark Lord's fall, for supper. The whole affair was rather boring, mostly a discussion of politics and where the two families would move from there. Draco participated when expected, but for the most part allowed his mind to wander. Wander it did, back to the dream he no longer remembered, to the ring on his finger, the blackened heart in an ivory box and salt spilling out endlessly from a brass urn as a hissing, sibilant voice whispered in his ear in a strange language. He was jerked from his reverie by the conclusion to supper and parting words from the Parkinsons and Pansy's brief hug, before vanishing through the Floo.

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Sleep evaded Draco that night, leaving him tossing and turning seeking a position that was comfortable enough to doze. The next morning his eyes drooped and pinked around the edge of the lid, his mother asked after him but seemed to understand a restless night. She probably took it for nerves about the upcoming school term, he knew _she _was anxious about it. She was _always _anxious where he was concerned.

Breakfast turned his stomach, so he pushed it around the plate, occasionally taking small bites and washing the clump of what felt like sandpaper down his throat. His body protested each time, but he had to make some attempt or suffer questions. Questions were never fun, especially from a distraught Narcissa. Draco left the table as early as possible, heading straight for the sitting room off his bedroom where he cracked open the Potions book for the upcoming term. It was easy to lose himself in the words as he reclined in the window seat atop cushy pillows, absently turning the serpent ring on his left hand.

Time slipped by him, and all too soon Mansy, their house elf, was summoning him for lunch. It went much the same as breakfast, Draco spent most of his time pushing food about and only occasionally taking bites. Usually whenever his mother or father looked over. Conversation was scarce, focused primarily on school and after school and politics. After lunch was spent with his father, as usual, working through the details of the family business. When Hogwarts was done, he would be assisting Lucius in 'work'. Work normally entailed socialite functions, favors between the Malfoy's and those working with the Ministry, and stocks. Although, since the war, donations and community work was added to the list in an effort to repair the damage done to their name. Having Harry Potter speak up for two-thirds of the family at the trials didn't hurt all that much either. Draco, however, found his focus drifting, disinterest festering in its place. Not that he could tell his father that, he'd never hear the end of it. But thoughts gravitated more around the weird brass urn more than the subject matter he was supposed to be learning.

A short reprieve came in the form of tea and mild conversation stimulated by Narcissa, but after that it was back to the books and masking boredom until supper. For the third time appetite failed Draco but he did rather well silently vanishing portions to make it look as though he were eating before retiring for another sleepless night.

Days passed in this fashion, the dark circles under his eyes growing so that Draco was forced to glamour his appearance to waylay worry. Sleep was light, when he was able to find it at all - restless and troubled by dreams that woke him covered in sweat with the remnants of that hissing voice fading from his mind. Meals were light, barely enough to really sustain a person and he'd already dropped half a stone by the fourth day. There was the beginning of a hunger, a strange craving for meat so rare it was almost raw. As repugnant as it was he needed to eat _something. _Draco didn't pay everything much head, taking it as being a moment, as he was won't to have, where appetite and sleep failed. Perhaps it was roll-over effects from Sixth year – the stress of that year hadn't completely left him. There hadn't been time, if he was honest. Which was why, as he stood before his mirror, taking in his reflection, which looked slightly warped; he rationalized everything away. He was rather good at deceiving himself after all.

That night sleep evaded him, and in a fit of worry, Draco hid the urn and warded the area. It wasn't overly hard, in a manor the size of the Malfoy's. Find a small, unused room and the back of a closet, the building was littered with secret rooms and passages between the walls from decades past. Satisfied, he returned to bed, slipped beneath dark silk and fell almost immediately into a deep sleep.

'_Crucio.' _

_Hoarse shrieks filled the air, jeers barked like rabid hyenas from the Death Eaters swarmed in a semi-circle around the bodies writhing on the floor. _

_Over-exposed red seemed across black wood, it was rotted and malformed, twisting and writhing with the broken and bruised bodies scattered atop it. The walls and ceiling cloaked in shadows from which ghastly masks of Death Eaters shifted about. _

_Anticipation was high in the air, a tang on the air mixing with excrement and fear and sweat and blood. Disgusting._

_His stomach rolled and his gaze shifted to the lone figure standing at the head of the once-ballroom. The snake-like visage grinned, baring yellowing teeth as his bloody eyes glimmered like rubies in the dark of the room. _

_A sickening snap brought attention back to the body in the center. A woman, arms wrapped around her child who'd long since died, bent back at an impossible angle, eyes popping wide and fixed with fading light on him. _

_He wanted out, away. Disgusting is what it was. All this blood, all this death and torture beneath the roof he'd once called home. Even in the light of day, when all was still and silent their eyes glimmered from the shadows, their screams echoed about the room –as though still haunting the place of their demise. _

_He hated this room. _

_Hated the screams, the twisting, breaking, bleeding bodies. Hated the maniac gliding across the floor toward him, feet and robes stepping carelessly through blood and over corpses, a final, petty act of degradation. The creature had no decorum. _

_He was speaking, mocking him, gesturing to the bodies and urging him to torture and maim like the rest of the blood crazed pack. He didn't want to… but was there a choice? Could he even cast the spell? He hesitated, those eyes flashed and he stepped forward, wand raised to the broken bodies._

_All he could see were her eyes._

_He wanted out, wanted it to go away. Wanted the bastard hovering over his shoulder, whispering taunts into his ear to die. To burn. He turn his head, eyes flashing, intent on telling the bastard to fuck off. _

Draco lurched forward in bed, eyes darting about the room in confusion, panting and wondering what woke him.

There were muffled shouts from downstairs, a faint smell of smoke and the unmistakable voice of his father, shouting at the house elves. Without pausing Draco tossed the duvet aside, grabbing his house robe and sprinting from his room downstairs. Smoke was billow up from the ground floor, and a with a wave of his wand he began to clear it away, free hand clasped firmly over mouth and nose. Following the noise brought him to the very ballroom he'd just dreamt of. Lucius and the house elves were snuffing the fire as Narcissa worked on clearing the smoke.

Draco froze, eyes wide as he took in the shrinking fire and a chill passed through his spine. Already the situation was under control, though Narcissa prompted help with the smoke and within thirty minutes the three of them were lounged in a sitting room, taking tea and lost to their own thoughts.

"Did you find a source for the fire?" Narcissa finally broke the silence, Lucius sighed.

"No. The center of the room was most damaged… as though the fire sprang from nowhere. I've the house elves searching the manor for possible intruders now."

Draco was silent, staring into his tea with a frown. No one was in the house. No one could get by the wards. It was ridiculous to think… so how had the fire started then? Surely it was just a strange coincidence the very room he dreamt of erupted into flame. It wasn't as though his magic was that out of control – his father would've sensed it or his mother.

"I shall return to bed, I am a bit tired still."

He wasn't sure where the words came from, his mind was far too occupied, but he needed to get away. With a good night from both parents Draco returned to his room, where he lay awake the remainder of the night, contemplating the fire that'd savaged a single room of his home.

**.**

* * *

**.  
**

Blaise arrived the next morning, sedate as always as he and Draco retreated to an upstairs study to chat. Most of the conversation centered around the recent birthday of Mrs. Zabini, who loved her Egyptian vase and the plaque Blaise had made to announce its origin. It was but another thing to demonstrate wealth and let visitors eye in jealousy. Not many could claim to own a piece from Cleopatra - especially a piece that'd been verified by an expert.

"How have things been?" Draco shrugged in answer.

"Parkinsons visited, I think mother is still hoping for a marriage contract." He shivered at the very idea, Blaise chuckled.

"Pansy isn't so bad." Draco shot the other man a look. Pansy wasn't that bad really.

"No she's not, but she's like a sister to me. Makes the whole business rather awkward." Blaise chuckled as he took a sip of tea. He could sympathize with that.

"Besides that, there was a fire last night. In the ballroom. Father had the manor searched for intruders, but there were none. We've no idea how it started."

Twin dark eyebrows arched high. A random fire? During the night of all times?

"Accidental magic?" Draco scoffed and eyed his friend.

"There was no signature, besides that, if it was one of the family then someone else would've sensed it. Father is a light sleeper after all. An intruder would've alerted the wards. Would you like to see? It's a rather curious situation. The house elves can't seem to remove the… after-effects."

Curious, Blaise followed. There were only so many explanations for a fire starting without prompting in the room of a wizard's home. Especially in an unused room. One would think if it was an attack, the fire would've been in a more… advantageous location.

The two made their way downstairs and to the ballroom, stationed in the East wing. Draco pushed the double, heavy mahogany doors open and stepped through. Blaise's eyes widened as he took in the room. The floor was charred black, the largest mass being in the center and webbing out where the fire grew. The walls and ceiling were scorched black and crumbling. The entire aura of the room was sinister and felt… dead somehow, which was quite the accomplishment on top of the feeling left by so much torture and death the room had seen. Blaise didn't comment, he didn't need to because his face said it all.

"The house elves aren't able to repair the damage?" Draco shook his head in the negative and Blaise let out a low whistle.

"Perhaps it was a curse fire… Dark Arts or something." Draco nodded, considering. It would be quite the feat of magic to set a cursed fire from a distance.

"Father made a request at the Ministry. There should be a group arriving to look the scene over in a few days."

Blaise nodded, still in thought as they left, still considering the situation when a thought struck him. The urn Draco bought.

"What did you do with the strange urn you bought?" Draco shrugged, affecting disinterest.

"It was nothing special, just had this strange magical feeling but turned out to be a right bore. So I put it away. It's rather boring and not very aesthetic, no point in setting it out." Blaise nodded with some hesitation and the subject dropped.

The remainder of the day was spent on lighter topics and the two indulged in a one on one game of Quidditch that lasted most of the afternoon. Blaise left shortly after tea and Draco was left to his own musings and another restless night, although sleep came a bit easier than usual it was still filled with whispering voices and strange imagery of a temple in the desert.

**.**

* * *

**.  
**

It was a sunny day, the weather was mild and a breeze whipped through the trees at the edge of the property lawn. Draco reclined in the garden, a book in his lap but his mind wandering, he let loose a yawn. The last day before returning to Hogwarts was always a bit of a bore. His trunk was packed and his mother fussing about the house – hence his wandering out here. She commented on his sleepless appearance but he waved her worries off. It was nothing, some nightmares, probably nerves about returning after the war – things that would pass in time. Draco was still very certain that this _would _pass with time.

A hiss drew the blonde's attention from words his brain hadn't processed. There at the edge of a rose bed a small green snake was slithering about, its head raised and tongue flicking out and large eyes fixed in his direction. Well, it's eye, seeing as both were on either side of its skull. Draco stared at the snake, attention captured as his thoughts whirled around the fire that damaged the ballroom. There wouldn't be any parties there for some time – if they ever used the room again anyway. It held a few too bad memories.

"See something you like?" Why the hell was he talking to a snake? Not like he could understand the damned thing or it him.

However, it hissed in reply, seeming annoyed by his question and proceeded to slither out of the soil and across the stone, over his foot and into the opposite garden. Draco watched with a sort of detached bemusement. Never seen a snake act like _that _before. As though he'd somehow offended it and it'd made sure to breeze by as though he were unimportant, completely not anything to be liked. Draco rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and returned to reading. He really needed out of the manor, he was obviously going batty being here all summer.

**.**

**.**

* * *

**A/N: - **one stone = fourteen pounds ; half stone = 7 pounds

I figured seven pounds in four days wasn't too ridiculous an assumption and not overtly noticeable.

Besides quarter stone just sounds weird when used in the same sentence.

Ground Floor – in Europe ground floor is what Americans think of as the First floor.


	3. Welcome to Hogwarts

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**Chapter Warning: **Alcohol consumption and hallucinogen consumption

**.**

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

**Returning to Hogwarts**

**.**

**.**

Platform Nine and Three-quarters was busy, but solemn, families returning and arriving for the first time to send off their children for a year of school in safety and peace. Yet many of the older students carried a weight, returning was a reminder of the faces they wouldn't see again, of the ones they lost in the war. A year wasn't so very long, after all, when most of that was spent at the Ministry and rebuilding their damaged and scattered world.

Draco arrived with Pansy and Blaise, but without his parents. The three made their way easily through the crowd of faces. Some held grudges, some threw unimpressed looks – while others seemed thankful for the normalcy of familiar faces and others still didn't care. Most lay their differences to rest at Voldemort's fall, understanding that the tide of war was a difficult current to fight. Others held grudges for entirely different reasons – like the Weasleys. Nothing would ever reconcile the hostility between the two families and indeed the war was just another little mark on an ongoing tally of dislikes between the two.

The Slytherins congregated in a carriage near the back, taking seats and awaiting the arrival of their friends. Theo was next to show, followed by the Carrow twins and the Greengrass sisters. Millicent Bulstrode came in a flurry of conversation with Tracey Davis – and all silently bid goodluck to Goyle who would not be returning to Hogwarts. Indeed, none of them heard from him since Crabbe's funeral. He was now Patriarch of his family and hefted with the weight of his family. It wasn't a position any of them envied him – heading a family – especially one shamed – was a burden they merely hoped he could bare.

Draco flopped into a seat nearest the window, next to Pansy, reclining his head into her lap as per tradition. She smirked at him and rolled her eyes but raked fingers through his hair regardless. It was comforting, the familiarity – not to mention amusing watching the twitch in Theo's face as he eyed Draco. The blonde smirked, stretched and fell silent, allowing his eyes to close as he listened to the mundane gossip between Pansy and Daphne about some distant cousin. Apparently marriages were all the rage now, attempting to solidify alliances and reclaim ground in the wizarding world. Too many of them were under scrutiny.

"The Gryffindors will be absolutely unbearable!" Daphne sighed, leaning back to inspect perfect nails. Pansy nodded.

"The heroes of the war or whatever nonsense they'll be spouting. As if their heads weren't big enough."

"Likely they'll be at the head of any anti-Slytherin sentiments." Astoria muttered more to herself. Blaise shrugged as he tuned into the conversation.

"Maybe, maybe not. There were Slytherins who fought to protect the other students just as the other houses did. Just because some of us were on the opposing side doesn't mean they'll hate us all."

Pansy nodded her agreement, looking thoughtful before a flash of danger lit her eyes.

"But we'll still have to keep an eye on the younger students. I don't trust those who weren't here to not attack them based on whatever rumors they've heard from their families. Especially considering some of the idiocy the Prophet was printing."

The girl huffed and Draco smirked, but took note. While the older students weren't likely to be overly hostile, beyond the normal glares and taunts, the same couldn't be said for younger students. They would still be coming in with prejudices and only a third or fourth retelling, if not more, of events. He was Head Boy… it meant more authority – and he planned to use every ounce of it to protect his house. Which reminded him he had a meeting to attend. The Train was just pulling off and it was likely they would be there a while. With a sigh he sat up and gestured to Astoria.

"We've a meeting. Might as well go now."

She nodded and together the two made their way to the carriage. The Gryffindor Prefects were already present; Ginny Weasley and a boy neither recognized. Granger was already there, her robes on and Head Girl badge pinned to her chest. Draco snorted silently, of course she was Head Girl. The Prefects from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff arrived next; Luna Lovegood and Zacharius Smith were the only two he could name. A Slytherin boy from Astoria's year slipped in right before the meeting started, Granger jumping in to take control of the situation. Draco was more than happy to let her have at it, he really wasn't feeling all that social in the middle of this lot. The faster it was over the faster he could return for a nap. .. or attempted nap.

"I think we should all speak with the younger students… about the war…" Astoria paused as attention turned to her. She sat up straighter and nodded at the questioning looks.

"The older students know what happened, they aren't likely to use other students as scapegoats. Given Slytherin's reputation and the many of its students who were involved in the… wrong side, of the war. We are concerned the younger students may face hostility from others coming into the school."

Granger paused, thoughtful but she nodded. "I agree… I honestly hadn't thought of that. The First Years will be most likely to be hostile to each other, not having previous history and only their own beliefs and what they've heard."

"So what exactly are we supposed to do about it? It's not exactly like the older students are _friends _either." Smith. He was such a prat, Draco rolled his eyes, sighing heavily.

"Sorry it must be explained to you Smith, but simply watching out for the younger students in your houses should help. Assign punishments to those attack other students or being overly hostile. It also wouldn't hurt to address the issue verbally, after we arrive and the students are sorted." The blonde sat back, waving a hand dismissively.

"Promote House Unity, tell them they will be punished for attacking other students regardless of their being Slytherin or not. They are children, too young to be good or evil but they will retaliate if attacked and the older Slytherins will defend the younger."

His speech made, Draco sat back and let the meeting continue without adding anything. Astoria was rather outspoken about the whole thing – a bit surprising really given how taciturn her elder sister could be. The meeting concluded with only a few spats and the occasional glare from Weaselette and he was free to return to the Slytherin carriage. Astoria walked with a bounce in her step, happy to have addressed the issue and it be supported by the other houses. Lovegood was also a surprisingly outspoken advocate, given she'd been imprisoned at Malfoy Manor and all. The girl was rather eccentric though, he wouldn't be surprised if she'd already written the incident off. He wrote to her during the summer, apologizing (gag) for her predicament and she accepted it quite gracefully. She was most definitely a strange girl… woman, whatever.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Considering it was in shambles just a year ago, Hogwarts looked surprisingly normal. Even with magic it seemed a feat to imagine all of the destruction left from the final battle was now repaired. Pristine, almost as good as new… but it would always carry that battle in its history. There was a statue erected in the entrance hall, commemorating those who lost their lives in the effort to bring Voldemort down. The returning students exited their Thestral drawn carriages and filtered into the Great Hall in a noisy chatter, taking in the repairs and the small changes – stone that was worn before was pristine and glistened in the torchlight, paintings were held in new frames. The long tables were the same as always, the colored house hangings giving warmth to the otherwise empty hall. Candles flickered overhead and the enchanted ceiling showed a clear, starry night with a full moon.

It was incredibly nostalgic.

The only thing missing was a twinkly-eyed Dumbledore sitting in the Headmaster's chair which now supported McGonagall with her severe bun, square spectacles and tight-lipped smile. Her face was warm, welcoming, even in its austerity.

The Slytherins slid into seats at their table, leaving room for First Years but taking note of the spattering of empty places from fallen classmates or those not returning. The other three house sat in similar fashion, some with more loses than others. The Golden Trio sat near the center of Gryffindor table, amid a smattering of chatter and warm smiles but with eyes that reflected the acknowledgement of their loses.

Silence fell as the side door opened and First Years were marched in, staring around in awe and wonder at the ceiling, at the considerably larger elder students or just in wonder at Hogwarts in general. Some looked nervous and others strutted in their small pack like little princes. Draco mused that they looked awfully tiny, it seemed impossible to imagine he'd been that small once. Seemed strange to imagine the childish innocence war and the Dark Lord stripped from so many. Little Professor Flitwick, now Deputy Headmaster, levitated a rickety three-legged stool to the center of the raised platform and set the Sorting Hat atop it. It was eyed with curiosity and wariness.

The hat twitched, its seam ripping before song burst forth from it and it toddled back and forth as it belched a lyrical poem covered in riddles advocating House Unity and overcoming the losses of the war, welcoming the new students and outlining the values of the late Founders. It's song, considerably shorter than Sixth year, came to an end and it fell still once more. Flitwick squeaked the first name and the tension broke as one after another the incoming students sat atop the stool, some longer than others, and were sorted to their houses. Slytherin clapped heartily for their new First Years – all fifteen – and politely applauded those moving to other houses. The younger years were hesitant, but after watching the Seventh and returning Seventh years applaud for any student regardless, they too joined in.

It was one of Astoria and Granger's tricks to easing hostility between the houses. Show support for them all, even if not as… boisterously as the other houses. They were Slytherins after all.

When the last little person took their seat McGonagall stood and raised her hands with a considerably warmer smile on her face.

"Greetings new students and a warm welcome to those returning. You shall find our numbers a bit more crowded than normal, given there are returning students whose final year was interrupted by the war."

A spattering of murmurs began but fell silent rather quickly as the Headmistress went on to outline the usual set of rules and expectations; avoiding the Forbidden Forest, checking the list of banned items in Filch's office and a notice that Weasley Wizard Wheezes products are not acceptable pass times for the hallways. She wished them a good diner and the tables exploded with a robust feast as she took her seat.

Draco felt appetite fail him when the well cooked food appeared, it smelt delicious but it turned his stomach and the blonde picked and pushed the bits around as conversation flitted about him. He was distracted, there was a hum of magic in the air he didn't recall being there before and irritation was creeping up like ants beneath his skin. Urging him to get away, somewhere quiet and less crowded.

"Draco."

Gray eyes flicked up to Blaise who held concern in his eyes for a second before it was masked in his usual blasé manner.

"Did you want something?" Blaise smirked, flicking a hand as though it was unimportant.

"Theo smuggled in Firewiskey, we're thinking about having a small… returning celebration in the common room tonight once the First Years are asleep." Draco pondered it a moment before he too smirked.

"Sounds fun, there won't be too many I hope… drunken crowds are less than entertaining."

Funny enough if an idiot couldn't hold their liquor but too noisy for the most part. Pansy would be enough noise on her own. Blaise nodded, turning to Theo and whispering quickly before looking back with a grin.

"Definitely a small crowd, otherwise we wouldn't have enough to go around. Just the returning Seventh Years." Draco nodded and conversation continued on as he picked and shoved at his food, not really listening any longer.

Dessert came and went and even with his sweet tooth Draco found himself unable to consume it. Pity really, he loved sweets and the house elves at Hogwarts outdid themselves at the Start of Term Feast. Not soon enough the plates cleared and McGonagall rose, directing Prefects to escort their students to their dormitories. Draco, Astoria and the other Prefect (he really needed to learn the guy's name) all rose and directed the Slytherins from the Great Hall and down to the dungeons.

The familiar cool air and enclosed walls and lingering shadows were a welcome retreat from the noisy hall and the Slytherins made their way down to their dormitory in a murmur of hushed chatter. Much more pleasant than the raucous shouts. Astoria murmured the password before passing it on to the other students and the three stepped in, halting their charges in the common room for announcements. They began with the traditional speech welcoming the First Years to Slytherin and urging them to seek out their elder snakes should problems arise or they need help. Slytherins stuck together, thick and thin, they were a tight-knit group and prided themselves in their house loyalty.

The announcements contained something new, urging the First Years and younger students as a whole to try and avoid altercation with other houses as much as possible. Although, should they find themselves in a bad situation, they were to seek out a Prefect, teacher or the Head Boy or Girl. By the time the little ceremony came to its end, the First Years were looking more relaxed than when they stepped through the stone wall. Many politely excused themselves before heading to their dorm to unpack and go to sleep –a full stomach was notorious for encouraging such sloth. A few however, lingered about the common room for about an hour before heading to their rooms. In all, the Seventh years only had to wait about two hours before the common room was theirs and Theo popped back in from his dorm with bottles and bottles of Firewiskey.

Caps were popped, followed by a sharp hiss and waft of chilled mist from the cooling charm. Glass clinked as the group toasted their return and to the new Slytherins before knocking back a swallow – a gulp in some instances.

"Theo! Shots, now."

Blaise's voice rang clear through the low chatter, bringing eyes to the half-Italian young man who smirked as he set out two shot glasses apiece. Theo eyed them a moment before his own smirk broke across his face and he sat opposite Blaise.

"What are the stakes?" Blaise pondered a moment.

"Winner has one favor from the loser." Dark chocolate eyes twinkled as Theo debated how worthy a stake this was. A favor; without named restrictions – yes he'd take it.

"Deal."

The first glass was topped, each downed it as the second was filled. Pansy sat beside Theo, emptying his bottle in the shot glasses as he downed them. Astoria sat giggling next to Blaise as Daphne shook her head some distance away, not cheering for either – she was in it for the amusement of watching the drunken antics.

Theo choked his shot and Blaise called himself the winner, with a crooked smirk on his lips and half the bottle of Firewhiskey gone as he sat back, looking thoughtful. Theo was eyeing him warily. Blaise's smirk broadened.

"A prank. You, my dear Theo, shall prank Slughorn. Tomorrow morning. I want his cauldron to explode. I'll leave the details up to you."

Theo's jaw dropped, sure it wasn't too very hard to avoid the Professor's gaze seeing as Theo wasn't a prodigy – the man was no Severus Snape for damned sure – but still! Those cauldrons were usually filled with a completed potion! With a groan Nott sat back, swinging an arm around Pansy's shoulders and nodding.

"Fine. Prepare for a fireworks display."

"Try to have the Gryffindors blamed."

Draco offered, splayed where he was across the leather sofa and smirking lopsided. The alcohol worked wonders for his nerves, and at a party who really needed to focus? No one. It was relaxing. Theo choked on his drink and glared at the blonde.

"Merlin's balls, it's going to be hard enough as it is without trying to turn his favor from the Gryffindors! We all know who _always _sits at the front of class."

Draco conceded the point. Ah well, maybe he could just flick a beetle into Potter or Weasley's cauldron and watch it melt. The war may be gone but there was no way the young Malfoy was giving up is one source of unending entertainment. Namely, seeing how many different shades of red a ginger could display.

Draco was halfway through his second third bottle when Pansy plopped down next to his head. Draco sat up, slid a bit and dropped his head back on her thighs with a contented sigh. Blaise and Theo were arm wrestling, Millicent, Tracey, Daphne and the Carrow twins were playing some sort of drinking game. Apparently one would shout out something sexual they haven't done and anyone who has done that particular activity must take a shot. Draco didn't much see the point when there was no winning.

"Why aren't you playing their little game?" He mumbled, eyes half closed.

"You looked lonely, _Dakey-poo_."

Pansy snickered at him, batting her eyelashes and puckering her lips. Draco grimaced in disgust.

"That is… wrong Pans. Why'd you _really _come over." She shrugged and sighed.

"You've been acting strange, distant. You barely ate at the feast and usually you're all for posturing for the little First Years. So what's wrong?"

Her eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth with a smooth lie. He never could lie to her, she was like his damned Mother (sometimes) – except Pansy was wildly more accurate about discerning the lies – and not at all as subtle about calling him on them. Draco sighed, rolling his eyes and waving a hand flippantly.

"I just haven't slept so well lately. There are still nightmares sometimes, about the war. It'll pass I'm sure. Usually does." She nodded, hesitant as though she didn't quite believe him but allowed the subject to drop regardless.

The party was winding down into a buzzed state, some were drunk, others were merely tipsy and much giggling and broken conversation filtered about the common room. The peace was broken by a distinct, pungent aroma that was almost floral and definitely burning. Draco's eyes snapped open. _'Who the hell?!' _He was already scanning the faces but Pansy was one step ahead of him as she leapt from the sofa, face twisted in fury.

"Theodore Nott! Tell me that isn't Datura petals!" She looked livid and Theo paused in his swagger back to the group with what looked like a small, white cigar in his fingers. He grinned slowly, uncertain, eyes darting from the crowd back to Pansy.

"No?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Theo. You know as well as I how dangerous that is!" He scoffed.

"Yeah if you eat it. I am smoking it, gives the effects, lessens the dangers." Pansy was deadpan, unmoved.

"Do I look stupid to you Theodore?"

He shook his head, as though confused. He probably was, considering he was taking a drag from the drug even as Pansy raved. She snarled and stomped, hands at her hips and eyes slits.

"Fine, I am going to bed. If you lot want to be bloody stupid then I'll just carry your bodies to Madam Pomfrey and let you explain it to her then, shall I?"

"Pansy is the designated adult." Blaise stage whispered, already knocking back more whiskey. He was most definitely drunk.

Draco was hovering on indecision as Pansy stalked from the room, Astoria followed shortly after, not at all okay with tempting fate with the drug. The Carrow twins followed shortly after, taking Daphne with them. Millicent and Tracey remained but turned down Theo's offer to smoke. Blaise happily took the 'joint' and inhaled deeply. It smelt strange, the smirk was a deep purple in color and Draco could swear he already felt a bit light headed. Or perhaps it could be that whispering voice in the back of his mind urging him to 'let go' and 'have fun'. Promising nothing bad could happen to him, that even if it _did _by chance, he had friends there to help. Just try it. Just take a small hit.

White paper was thrust in front of his face and the young Malfoy hesitated only a moment before shrugging and snatching it away. He inhaled, choked and spluttered and coughed out the coarse smoke. It looked so much smoother from Blaise and Theo, but it burned his lungs and scratched at his throat and his eyes watered and a headache set in from the coughing fit. It was soothed away soon enough by another swig of Firewhiskey.

"Tastes bloody awful." His nose wrinkled, not too sure he even wanted to give it another go. Blaise laughed.

"It takes some getting used to." Theo giggled, passing it along.

"So, Blaise, you shagged Astoria yet?" Blaise arched a brow at Theo, smirking.

"You shagged Pansy yet?" Theo sneered, taking a drag and handing it off to Draco.

"Course. Girl _loves _sex." Blaise nodded, taking tossing back more whiskey.

"Not Astoria. Had plenty of other girls though. How 'bout you Draco? Surely you've got a bedpost notched."

Draco was quiet, mind already wandering as the colors in the room shifted and danced with every flicker of the hearth fire. He hadn't really bedded a lot of girls, one to be more precise. Wasn't like he had a lot of time once puberty set in to really start on that. So he shrugged, watching as the purple plume shifted to acid green as it dissipated.

"Not really. There was this bint in France, about all. Didn't really have much time, did I?" Blaise conceded the point. Nott snickered.

"Sure that's the reason Draco? I've been shagging girls since I was twelve."

Draco stared and Blaise broke down into giggles at the sight of wide eyes, pupils blown until there only remained a sliver of gray. Twelve? Bloody twelve?! What sort of hormone controlled madman was Nott? Maybe he should advise Pansy to date someone else… then again, the girl was rather… active herself. Without commenting Draco shook his head and turned back to the ceiling where fairies were dancing and twittering and grinning sharp-toothed grins at him, their tiny eyes glittering red like rubies. Like _his _eyes. Draco shivered, already lost in thought when a voice drug him back.

"What now?" He groused, Blaise was still giggling. At least one of them was happy. Theo rolled his eyes.

"I said, have you ever had a bloke?"

Draco stared and stared some more, waiting for the punch line that wasn't coming. Theo was just looking at him, or in his direction, his eyes were far to glazed to be sure. Certainly he wasn't serious? He was the Malfoy Heir – he would marry some woman and make another Heir. How did blokes even factor into that logic.

"I think you've shocked 'im speechless, Theo."

Blaise snarked, finishing his bottle and flopping back against his comfy leather armchair with a sigh, letting the hallucinations run their course. Mostly colors and waves in the air from sound but it was a good start. He felt giddy and happy. Euphoric by Blaise standards.

"I'm not having at ya' Draco… you've never had a bloke? I've had one or two…" Theo shrugged indifferently. "Got the best head I've had from that Smith prat in Hufflepuff."

Draco looked green by this point, blokes were fine, he guessed, if that was your thing… but _Hufflepuffs_? Didn't Nott have standards?! He was a bloody Slytherin!

"Spare me Nott, your Hufflepuff conquests are nothing to brag about."

"And your one shag is?"

Draco scoffed, sitting up and wavering as the room spun and twirled and the red-eyed-fanged fairies danced closer, waggling their fingers at him and hissing for his attention.

"Better one French lay than a score of Hufflepuffs."

He gave another shiver and staggered to his feet, ignoring Theo's grousing as he wandered to the dorms. Blaise asked where he was going and he just shrugged it off and kept walking. The two remaining young men chuckled, so begins the hallucinations.

The walk to his dorm room was longer than usual. The torches cast long shadows that writhed and reached for him with skeletal clawed hands, the fairies bobbed and weaved in front of him, tugged at his cloak while hissing chased his heels and the floor felt like a bundle of writhing bodies rather than stone. Draco swallowed reflexively, increasingly uncomfortable heading for somewhere dark and empty with these ominous fairies – but he couldn't stop. Curiosity drove him, and that honey-sweet voice that promised everything would be okay… too bad he couldn't find his wand to cast Lumos. The added light would be a appreciated.

At last he stumbled in his room, the door swinging shut with a click behind him and darkness descending like an endless void. The fairies giggled and the whispers urged him forward. Draco collapsed on his back atop the bed, groaning as his head spun and colors erupted from the dark of his canopy. Sheets crumpled beneath his splayed arms and legs, head lolling to one side and eyes flickering dazedly about the room as he breath evened out, deep and peaceful.

Draco stiffened abruptly, almost shouted when fabric became snakes, black snakes with glittering red eyes and wide, yellow-toothed smiles as they bound ankles and wrists and twisted about his mouth and neck and hips and eyes and pressed and seized while he writhed and jerked in an attempt to free himself…

To crash in a heap on cold stone floor, the sound of snoring and shuffle of bodies tossing and turning filling the dormitory. Gray eyes snapped open, jerked left and write before landing on the duvet twisted impossibly around his body. He still wore shoes and robes - which would explain the feeling of entrapment and suffocation. Scrambling around, Draco managed to locate his wand, halfway beneath the bed, and cast _Tempus. _It was early morning, close to five a.m. He still had time to sleep but wasn't quite certain he would be able to sleep. Not after that.

Blankets were returned to the bed, left tossed in a heap as he slipped out of his robes and crawled back into the semi-warmth of the bed. The early morning chill was a bone-deep cold in the dungeons; where there were no windows to allow in the suns warmth. Stretched out on his stomach, Draco dropped back into a light, restless doze.

**.**

* * *

**.**

**A/N: **I imagine Firewhiskey being bottled much like beer is ; instead of how 'Muggle' whiskey is bottled.

Returning Seventh years – many call them 8th years but seeing as a full seventh term was never served they aren't 8th years despite having missed their legitimate seventh year.

**Datura** is dangerous. I do not condone its use especially since it can prove deadly. I don't know how it is consumed for hallucinations and I don't particularly care. For this – they are smoking it – and seeing as it is an Herb similar to Nightshade I figured they would know of its use. It was rumored once upon a time to be used by witches in creating love potions. However, it can cause violent behavior on top of hallucinations and a disconnection from reality and many other problems and even death. Not much love in that if you ask me.


	4. Sequuntur somnia et incendiis

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**.**

**Chapter 4:**

**Sequuntur somnia****et incendiis**

**.**

**.**

* * *

The water was near scalding as it pelted his skin, Draco didn't much care. His head throbbed painfully from alcohol and smoking that bloody plant. How could he be so stupid? He'd likely be skipping in and out of coherency for at least another two days. The effects were long in wearing off. He couldn't even take a hangover potion for risk of it reacting with the stupid thing! On top of that he missed breakfast, waking too late to make it even if he _did _skimp on his morning ritual. Vain as he was there was just no way that was happening, so might as well take his time. Coffee would've been nice though.

With a groan his spun and dipped his head back under the spray, eyes falling closed as he attempted to meditate the headache away. It would likely be worse by lunch, so giving up he shut off the water and stepped into the chill of the bathroom. In another fifteen minutes; immaculate in black robes and green and silver tie, hair brushed neatly away from his face, Draco made his way from the Slytherin dormitory to the Potions classroom. And a regretful double-hour with the idiot Slughorn.

When Draco arrived in the corridor outside the Potions classroom, a group of students mingled about. Three Ravencalws, two Hufflepuffs, the Golden Trio and two other Gryffindors and then there was the Slytherin group with their heads together muttering. Weasley eyed them as they continued their whispering, mostly attempts to drag out Theo's plan, but Weasley probably assumed they were plotting world domination or some such nonsense.

The door swung open and out stepped Slughorn, a greasy smile on his whisker covered face as he ushered them all inside before taking his place at the head of the room. The rotund man beamed around at them in much the same manner a collector of rare art would survey pieces at auction. Draco bit down on his tongue and flipped through his text, willing the man to get on with it. He loved potions – what he did not love was Horace Slughorn. Not only for overlooking him in Sixth year but also for the man's personality as a whole.

"Good morning class! Wonderful to see you all here again. Now, today we are going to be brewing the _F__acere__S__omnium__, _can anyone tell me what this potion is and does? Ah, yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's hand dropped from its almost instantaneous position in the air.

"_Facere Somnium_, is a dream potion, it induces symbolic, vision-like dreams in the drinker. It is also believed to sometimes bring dreams of the future." Her face said quite plainly what she thought of _that _idea, being as opposed to Divination and Seers as she was.

"Very good! Ten points to Gryffindor. This potion will not put the user into a sleep but when they do sleep, dreams will be much more vivid, often symbolic in nature. It is often believed that the use of Verbena root in the potion brings about these dreams. Now, let us begin, I have a sample here of a completed brew. Your potions should also turn a milky-lavender color, make sure to avoid pinks and reds! Don't want it exploding on us."

The man twittered and his students smiled somewhat wanly. Slughorn was a nutter – a bigger nutter than even Dumbledore. Not quite on par with Trelawney though. Draco inspected the black board as the Professor flicked his wand and the directions chalked themselves in. A bit difficult, not the most difficult he'd ever brewed. Should be easy enough.

Draco shrugged and moved away from the station he shared with Blaise to collect the ingredients as the other leaned over to hiss something at Nott. Theo just smirked at Blaise and waved him off as he sauntered off to collect his own ingredients. In the small room he leaned close to Draco in the process of inspecting jars.

"I'm thinking a stray porcupine quill should do the trick. Those tend to be a bit touchy with heat and Slughorn, the idiot, still has his cauldron on a simmer." Draco raised a brow.

"You should go with one of the ingredients we're required to use. A stray porcupine quill wouldn't look so much like an accident, yeah?" Theo nodded and grumbled, reaching for the bat spleens to measure out..

"Recommendations?"

"Beetle eyes are rather sensitive too, well, they are when mixed with Yarrow seeds." Theo grinned, grabbed the beetle eyes and measured them out before leaving, Draco not far behind them.

The lesson was going amazingly smooth, to have Gryffindor and Slytherin working so closely. The Hufflepuffs kept tensing, as though expecting for the precarious truce to explode at any moment. The first half of the double period was almost over and Draco was rather satisfied with his potion so far, a shame it would all be a waste once Theo blew up Slughorn's cauldron. The man was currently hovering around his favored potions students; primarily Granger and Potter. Draco wrinkled his nose, scowling as his head throbbed worse from the fumes rising from his cauldron.

Most of the class was focused on brewing, or chattering away with their partner as Slughorn gloated or frowned over their work, Theo kept glancing up and looking down again, lips twitching to refrain his smirk and Blaise was becoming more and more antsy as time passed.

Beetle eyes are rather small and a levitation charm exceptionally simple for a Seventh year, which would explain why even the ever-vigilant Golden Trio didn't see the little beetle eye floating across the room to plop into the simmering potion at the head of the classroom.

_BOOM. _

A plume of deep purple smoke rushed around the room, nearly choking those nearest the teacher's desk in its density. Draco staggered backward, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth as shouts erupted around the room and Slughorn tittered a 'Great Merlin', as his cauldron turned a violent shade of red before melting into a puddle, sending the destroyed potion oozing across the stone floor.

"Everyone clear out! Try not to breathe it in, all those who have please report to Madame Pomfrey! Come on now, don't dally!"

The tiny rush of students easily cleared the classroom, gasping in clean air and others doubled over or swooning. A few of the more considerate grabbed one of their classmates and began to escort them away as Slughorn stood in the door, hand over his mouth and wand waving wildly. It took maybe five minutes to clear the smoke but the class was ruined. Potions which were brewing at the proper color were now deep red or pale pink, some even a strange shade of green. Definitely wrong.

"Most unfortunate! Most unfortunate indeed! Must have been an accident!"

The man was obviously flustered and the Slytherins only lingered long enough for him to dismiss them before heading to Pomfrey for a 'just in case' check-up. One could never be too careful with potions. It was only a shame they didn't manage to escape the last minute homework assignment Slughorn handed out with a request they inform their classmates who were already at the Hospital Wing.

"Two feet of parchment on that ridiculous potion?! _A discussion of its recorded uses and the effects_. Rubbish. Were it Professor Snape it would've been a hundred points from Gryffindor and three feet on the catastrophic effects of beetle eyes!"

Blaise grumped as the small group trudged to the hospital wing. Draco offered a weak smile, his head was pounding as though filled with a herd of Hippogriffs. Perhaps Pomfrey had a diluted headache potion he could take, by this point he was willing to risk potential unsavory side effects.

The matronly woman was hurrying about the Hospital Wing in a tizzy and muttering about 'unsafe potions' and 'unmonitored teaching environments'. It might've been amusing were Draco's brain not attempting to leave his skull. She obviously didn't have the best opinion of Slughorn. Of course, Pomfrey didn't seem to have a high opinion of any Professor when students came in injured or coated in botched potion.

"You lot have a seat, I'll be with you in a moment. If any were covered directly by the fumes please proceeded to the back and shower, there are robes for you."

And off she went, potions in hand and a tray levitating after her. Blaise took a seat between Pansy and Draco, Theo was smirking on the other side of Pansy.

"So Blaise how much do you owe me for that one?"

The dark-skinned man glowered at his friend, scoffing and shaking his head.

"I don't owe you a thing, you never required any sort of payment for it."

Theo grumbled but didn't push the issue, although he wouldn't likely forget to call for some galleons should he succeed next time. Well, until he imbibed enough alcohol anyway. Pomfrey bustled over soon after and declared them all suitable before ushering them into a shower while their robes were laundered. It was a rather tedious affair.

The group of Slytherins were the last to leave the infirmary, headed for a Charms lesson with the Ravenclaws which turned out to be rather boring. Some charms were practical, others superfluous but the silly charm they learned was downright _boring._ Who in their right mind would need charms to simply redecorating when there were house elves for that very purpose!? Well, Granger would of course. Regardless, Draco was glad to be free of the classroom as he made a beeline for the dormitory to drop off his things. His vision was swimming, warping and the lights were a touch too bright but the cool air of the dungeons was a marvelous reprieve.

Draco stepped through the warded stone wall and proceeded back to his room, he was in the process of setting down his satchel when the world gave an almighty lurch and he doubled over heaving. Everything was a whirr of color, whizzing and exploding even behind his eyelids and in the muted tones of his bedroom. The blonde groaned, praying he didn't pass out. What an ungainly sight he would make then! Sprawled in the middle of the dorm floor. Unacceptable. Draco drug himself to a stand, sliding one hand along the wall as he made slow way to the bathroom. He had only just enough time to reach a toilet before expelling the empty contents of his stomach, mostly Pomfrey's potion and juice he'd sipped at to wash the foul concoction down.

His throat burned from bile and stomach acid and he swiped at chapped lips with the back of his hand. His skin was clammy and sallow in color, not at all a suitable state to be seen in. Draco lingered only long enough for the dizziness and roiling to stop before standing and wandering to a sink; one look at his reflection had him casting glamour spells carefully. Let his mother catch wind of her beloved son being sick his first day back to Hogwarts and she'd rampage through the place like a Harpy. Draco felt he could live eternity and some without the shame that would bring. She'd been amazingly over-protective since the Dark Lord's fall.

He shook his head. _Focus. Clean up and grab lunch in the kitchens then head to the library. _At least, he could skip Herbology and use the excuse he was caught up in his essay. It was common knowledge his love of potions, after all. Fingers raked through dull hair glamoured to retain some of its normal sheen, smirk tested and face observed critically from all angles – Draco was ready. With an air of more confidence than he really felt the Malfoy Heir grabbed his satchel up, sans Charms book, and made a trail for the kitchens. Who knows, perhaps he could even convince them to hand over something a little on the rare side.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Gryffindor table was always boisterous at mealtimes; they were rather boisterous most of the time regardless of the occasion. The noise made it easier to discuss things others ought not overhear, well, there wouldn't exactly be a problem if they _did. _It was simply preferential they didn't. Perhaps Hermione and Ron didn't look at it that way, but Harry certainly did. It would be awkward questions about why they cared. They shouldn't care, really, it was more force of habit driving his brain to question suspicious things. As it were, the latest hot topic of the trio was the latest Prophet scandal – there were admittedly quite a few of those since the war but this one was rather interesting. The headline read; _'Strange Coincidence or Something more Devious: Fire at Malfoy Manner' _. The writer was Rita Skeeter, no surprise, and as usual she seemed to have a fair bit of inappropriate information.

'_On the evening of August 29__th__ a fire broke out in Malfoy Manor. The fire ravaged and destroyed the ground floor ballroom of the large estate of former Death Eaters Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy. It was believed the destruction could have been an attempt on the family's life, although sources say the wards were not breeched and there was no residual magic at the scene. _

_Curse Breakers and Aurors of the Ministry were dispatched to search the scene, believing it to be a cursed fire for the damage to walls and floor and furnishings could not be undone. Sources say the investigators were stumped as to how, and why, such a fire would break out in a location so very far from the sleeping quarters of the family. _

_House elves located the fire and promptly notified the two house heads and it was able to be contained and extinguished with minimal damage to the overall property. This report begs to question who could have started the fire? Could it have been a stunt to gain sympathy from the masses by turning the Malfoy's into victims rather than the war criminals they are? Perhaps it was the work of a fellow Death Eater, seeking revenge for the family's supposed betrayal…_

_Story continues on page 5; a list of ambiguous Dark spells can be found on page 10.'_

"Heard by dad talking with Kingsley about it before school, he said something about there not being a magical signature for them to follow. But fires don't just start out of nowhere."

Ron explained between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes and cuttings of meat. Harry nodded his agreement.

"Yeah, and the Malfoys definitely have plenty of people unhappy with them. I just don't understand how they'd pass the wards."

Hermione was silent through the exchange, mostly disinterested as she flipped through the pages of a dusty old tome.

"Honestly Harry, it doesn't matter does it? The Ministry will handle it, and if it was nothing it was nothing, explained or not. If it doesn't happen again, well, there isn't anything to do, is there?"

Harry frowned at the girl's assessment, she was right of course, but it didn't stop his brain from trying to put the pieces together and find an answer – or wanting to. It was one of the main reasons he even wanted to be an Auror, cases needed answers, people needed closure.

_CRACK!_

Heads turned in tandem to the head table where a small little house elf in an indigo toga sporting the Hogwarts coat of arms popped up next to McGonagall. The little thing's eyes were huge and it was whispering vehemently and nervously, wringing its hands and looking very near to tears. McGonagall's lips pulled into a thin line and face grave and slightly pale before she dismissed the elf and stood swiftly, gracefully.

"Attention students, you are all to remain in the Great Hall until further notice, thank you."

With a gesture to Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn and the year's Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, the Headmistress swept from the room, leaving Hagrid, Sinistra, Vecter and Trelawney to oversee the students. Harry exchanged glances with Hermione and Ron before whipping his Invisibility cloak from his satchel – another habit he really rather appreciated – slipped it over his shoulders and hurried from the hall, keeping a safe distance between himself and the group of Professors heading upstairs.

Where were they going?

**.**

* * *

**.**

_Fire raged below, a writhing slithering mass with snake heads lashing about and consuming all in its path. _

_Fiendfyre. _

_Screams tore the air as a familiar face plummeted down and down and into the blazing inferno of red and orange. It was like watching in slow motion as the heat boiled skin, congealed and diminished blood, blackened hair while the eyeballs cracked and turned to dust. Flesh charred, incinerated, nothing but ash crumbling away from blackening bone slowly reduced to a similar state. The screams seemed to continue on even after his body was gone. _

_Crabbe. _

_The fire continued to rage far below, a boiling and twisting mass of heat and color that permeated into the unending darkness surrounding it. Serpents of flame slithered from the core of heat, their hissing voices echoing continuously around him. Whispering secrets and lies twisted like a truth, whispering about power and sleep and awakening. _

_Soon. Soon. Soon. _

_He reclined in his throne, feeling a smirk twist his lips despite the horror he felt. More serpents coiled at his arms, raising and hissing and flaring their hooded heads with protruding fangs as they bobbed left and right but never struck. He watched them with detached amusement, watched bloody eyes flicker his reflection back at him. Ivory skin, platinum hair, stormy gray eyes that burned with a ring of yellow and a set of feathered wings rising form his shoulder. The blinding white contrasted sharply with the black of the throne. _

_It wasn't his reflection, that grinned in the snake's eye, revealing a set of dropping fangs as the yellow-gold ring blazed with unspoken promise. _

_He willed the snake away, not wanting to see the not-him in its tiny eyes – and it left, dropping its body away and into the fire that coiled around the mountain of bones he realized the throne was sat atop. _

_Horror gripped his chest when gaze rose to look out over the receding darkness. What looked to be a city built of red and brown and black stone rose up in the distance, shapes and figures – some monstrous others humanoid, shifting about – mere shadows without detail as they passed through gates and maneuvered legions here and there. _

A sharp shove to Draco's shoulder woke him with a start, eyes peering blearily over at Blaise who smirked at him in amusement.

"Napping in the library?"

The blonde frowned, eyes flicking down to the book opened in front of him. His half-hearted attempt to start on Slughorn's essay as excuse to skip out on lunch after eating in the kitchens. Not that he'd eaten much there, his sweet tooth returned with a vengeance and his actual meal lay forgotten as he munched on the pastries and tarts and pudding the house elves were more than happy to deliver. He yawned and closed the book, stretching as a smirk curled his lips.

"The material is far too boring to hold my attention, apparently."

At least the headache was gone now, Blaise grinned and patted his shoulder as he began helping the blonde gather up books and return them or place them in a stack for later use. Satchel over his shoulder, Draco led the way from the Library under Madam Pince's sour glare – one would think she would be accustomed to students by this point, no one even knew for certain how long she'd worked there – just that the old bat had been there as long as anyone could remember.

The two Slytherins rounded the corner at the end of the corridor and collided with something invisible. '_Potter_' was Draco's first thought as the Invisibility cloak slipped from the Gryffindor's shoulder as he tumbled down. Draco watched amused, one brow raised as the boy stood and dusted himself off, a frown curling at his lips already.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" He chimed, eyes narrowing. Old habits do die so very hard. The blonde rolled his eyes.

"Really, Potter, the Library is just down the corridor. Question is why are you skulking around in that cloak?" Better question was where all the other students and Potter's sidekicks were. Blaise seemed to have similar thoughts.

"Where's the other half of the Golden Trio, anyway? Thought the lot of you were joined at the hip." Harry scowled at the dark skinned boy.

"In the Great Hall, where everyone is supposed to be. Now if you don't mind."

Draco craned his head, smirking thoughtfully and humming, seeming to be considering the statement. Actually, he very well did mind. His headache was somewhat gone and he'd yet to torment the Gryffindor this year. Pity that, considering how bloody easy it was.

"I rather think I do mind, Potter, why are you here when you should be in the Great Hall? I am Head Boy, you see, so it is only a matter of duty that I ask." His face said otherwise and Potter's jaw clenched as he too knew this.

"I'm seeing what the Professors are doing, if you must know, now if you'll excuse me."

With that, he tossed the cloak over his shoulders and darted around the two and down the hall. Draco looked at Blaise thoughtfully, whatever it was had the _Savior _rather up in arms. Could be interesting to check out, shame the didn't actually know where the Professors were headed so with a shrug they headed to the dormitory.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Harry's sprint upstairs finally slowed when the murmur of voices reached him, and even though he wore his cloak he peered cautiously around the corner of the corridor, taking in the gaggle of Professors looming around the Room of Requirement. They all looked worried and were speaking in hushed, low tones. However, Harry didn't need to hear them to know what happened. The smell of smoke still lingered on the air and he was surprised not to have noticed it before now. The stone flanking the large arch of the door was blackened and charred, the door itself a pile of ash and wood chips on the floor. A group of house elves were inspecting the damage and shaking their head and McGonagall was now surveying the damage with pursed lips.

"You can't repair the damage? What could _do _this! This is Hogwarts, the magic in the castle itself should assist in repairing it." Flitwick observed in a subdued squeak.

"I'm not sure, the room shouldn't be opened like this either – yet it is." McGonagall observed, pointing her wand at the stones and muttering a few spells. Flitwick shook his head.

"The Ministry will need to look at this, what if it happened in a more populated area?" His fingers tapped nervously, probably imagining all too easily the gore that would befall students should a cursed fire be loosed.

"You all read the Prophet article this morning?" Sprout. McGonagall's eyes narrowed as she turned around, silent for a moment before speaking.

"Close off this portion of the corridor until it's been looked at more closely. Until then, try to keep the incident contained, the last thing we need is panic over an attacker in the castle." She adjusted her robes, gray head shaking.

"Peace has just landed, let us hope another problem shall not arise to take its place."

With a murmur the Professors and Headmistress swept down the corridor and back toward the Great Hall. Harry knew he too should return, after all he had Care of Magical Creatures soon, but the intrigue drew him in. Was it an attacker? How had they gotten into Hogwarts? Why would someone attack Malfoy Manor and then the Room of Requirement? It didn't make sense, and he frowned heavily as he approached the wall. The stone was rough against his palm, and the wall felt… dead somehow, where the rest of Hogwarts and this room especially radiated with a warmth of magic, the stone was cold to the touch and the life seemed drained away. Harry shivered unconsciously, wondering what sort of cursed fire could possibly do this ; eat away magic in such a manner.

Without venturing into the room, he'd return later with Hermione and Ron, the Gryffindor left for Care of Magical Creatures.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Blaise left Draco in the dormitory, lying face down on his bed. The blonde had a free hour whilst Blaise had a class, and he was rather grateful for the solitude. Crowds worked at his nerves, driving the irritation that constantly buzzed just beneath the surface of his trained exterior. He pondered over the dream he had, wondering at the strange imagery present in it. He sometimes dreamt of Crabbe, but it was never accompanied by such odd sights… and what was with his reflection then? In an impulsive decision he stood and opened his wardrobe, inspecting his reflection in the long mirror. His eyes had soft, dark circles beneath them, having jumped from the extreme of not sleeping to a night of rest and an unplanned nap in the library left his head feeling fuzzy and even more sleepy. His eyes were the same gray as always, lacking the touch of burning red he'd seen in his dream… but he looked hazy, not transparent but… fuzzy, almost, as though his image were distorting in the mirror. The longer he stared the more he noticed, the dull look of his hair without glamour charms, the slightly sharp protrusion of facial bones from the weight loss and a glow that started at his pupil and faded outward.

His head throbbed, dull compared to the morning's pain, and the image swam before him, tilting and warping until he looked to be smirking at himself with narrowed eyes and deep shadows looming behind him and writhing. Draco stepped back sharply, eyes narrowed and lips a thin line but the movement caused nausea to lurch in his stomach and he flopped back onto his bed, squeezing his eyes shut in an effort to will it away. A dropping sensation began at the back of his skull, fell down his spine and flipped his stomach and with a groan he stood and rushed to the bathroom. He barely made it in time to expel the contents of his stomach, a coagulated mass of red that looked shockingly like blood.

Pale faced Draco rushed from the room for the Hospital Wing, classes be damned if he was puking up blood. He stumbled on his way, ending using the wall for support with one hand as he forcibly slowed his journey to hold in as much dignity as possible while his heart beat a frantic pulse beneath his skin and worried thoughts danced in his mind. It didn't help that the voice was hissing in his ear, a whisper promising everything would be fine soon. A shame he didn't believe it.


	5. Madam Pomfrey

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**.**

**Chapter 5:**

**Madam Pomfrey**

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* * *

"Good Heavens, Mister Malfoy, you look a right mess! Come along, take a bed and I'll be with you in a moment."

Draco flopped into the nearest bed and lay back, grateful that the Hospital Wing was empty this time of day. Madam Pomfrey bustled about her office for a few minutes before returning to him, wand out and lips pursed in a thin line. The woman really took personal offence to students being ill or injured, he thought.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?"

"I've had an awful headache all day and nausea… not much appetite either lately. I vomited what looked like blood before coming." She tutted, unimpressed and waved her wand.

"You've lost weight. How much have you been eating?"

Draco pursed his lips, doing his best to hold what dignity he had in the face of being legitimately ill. Normally he would've jumped to the occasion, but he really didn't need a lecture on poor eating habits.

"Not often. As much as I can but never a full meal. I've… preferred more meat than normal, recently… rare meat." She blinked at him, brows furrowed.

"Regardless of your appetite you must attempt to eat more often. The meat could be a need for more protein in your diet. Now, sleep? How often?"

A shrug. "Again, as much as I can. A couple of hours a night, although last night more than usual and I slept in the library earlier."

Another wand wave. "Have you consumed any alcohol or controlled substances in the last three days?"

Draco shifted awkwardly, eyes turning away. No way was he wanting to listen to one of Madam Pomfrey's lectures on drug use and how dangerous Datura is.

"Firewhiskey last night… and there were Datura petals… they were smoking… and I smoked some as well."

The silence was deafening. It was as though Madam Pomfrey were waiting on the catch line to say he was joking. Draco's silvery eyes flicked away, focusing hard on a far wall as opposed to looking at the Mediwitch.

"Mister Malfoy… " She closed her eyes, nostrils flaring as she breathed in and out, slowly. "Do you know what Datura _is_?"

His lips pinched, eyes narrowing and he nodded.

"Mister Malfoy, Datura is exceptionally dangerous. Smoked or consumed it could prove lethal. The effects are far more damaging than other hallucinogens, it is a poison, Mister Malfoy. Poison. You should _know this _as it is one of the few plants carefully avoided being used in a potions classroom at Hogwarts. Certainly Professor Snape had set an essay at some point about its effects?"

Draco scowled, he knew perfectly well the risks, he'd scored and 'O' on that paper after all. Highest in the class aside from Granger, but she rather didn't count at this point. They were _always _neck and neck.

"Yes he set the essay, I know the risks, but I was drunk. I wasn't exactly thinking logically."

Her eyes narrowed at his snippy tone. "Be that as it may, alcohol is also prohibited on school grounds. I am most sorry but I shall have to hold you overnight and potentially through tomorrow, your Head of House shall also be informed of this development. There are really no potions I can provide you with, the headache potion was chance enough. You shall have to just suffer through this, I'm afraid, Mister Malfoy."

Draco groaned as she cast a monitoring spell and swept off out of the Hospital Wing. He sank back in the pillows. Just his bloody luck. Back in school and making a new record for arriving in the Hospital Wing. Stupid Blaise and stupid Theo. They didn't seem to be suffering any adverse symptoms from smoking the Datura. Speaking of, he didn't seem to be experiencing anything now either, aside from the fact it felt as though he'd collapse if he tried to stand. Laying still seemed to be his best option in this situation.

Draco caressed the black serpent band on his left middle finger as he awaited the return of Madam Pomfrey, eyes glazed and distant although not particularly fixated on anything. The doors clicked open and closed, snapping his attention back to the two people approaching the bed. Slughorn looked put out and wary, fingers laced atop his rotund stomach and mustache twitching as he came to a stop. He heaved a heavy sigh, as though taking on a most cumbersome burden. Draco sneered, eyes narrowed.

"Mister Malfoy I am most disappointed a student of my own House would partake of such foolish actions. Datura… pity, pity. Such a dangerous plant. However, if you could just pass along the name of whoever brought the plant onto grounds we can have this all cleared up quickly."

The cold sneer increased, the man was an idiot. Truly he shouldn't be head of Slytherin house at all. How he missed Severus.

"Sorry Professor, but seeing as I'm not a Gryffindor I don't particularly see what there is to be gained by outing a fellow Slytherin. After all, our loyalty is to each other."

Slughorn's lips pinched, mustache twitching furiously. He caught the implication, both that only a Gryffindor would sell out a fellow as being the 'right thing to do' and that he himself was not worthy of Slytherin's loyalty. Not that he was all too eager to be associated with the House deeply, not after the rapping its reputation had taken. Slughorn let out a soft, indignant huff.

"Ass you will Mister Malfoy, be warned you will receive detention should the situation repeat itself."

Draco's sneer followed the man out of the Hospital Wing, unwavering.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Later that evening, after the ruckus of dinner found Harry, Ron and Hermione gathered about the fireplace in Gryffindor common room. Hermione sat with Crookshanks curled in her lap, gaze fixed on the fire crackling merrily while Ron and Harry took up the sofa. Ron seemed perplexed but not overly concerned, Harry looked agitated.

"I really don't know how to explain it… the room was obviously burnt out, and it felt… dead."

Harry shivered, remembering the cold feel of the stone.

"Perhaps we should go have a look." Hermione scoffed, eyeing Ron.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm sure they've stationed Professors to watch it."

Harry shook his head. "There's the Invisibility Cloak, besides, no one besides us and the Professors know about it yet."

Hermione looked thoughtful before nodding, removing Crookshanks from her lap and standing.

"We best be off then, there _is _class in the morning after all."

Ron and Harry rolled their eyes but returned to the dorm to collect the Marauders Map and Invisibility cloak before meeting Hermione in the common room. Being Prefect and Head Girl, the two had nothing to worry about if they were caught out of bed there was an excuse – Harry, however, tossed on the cloak and activated the map.

"Alright looks clear, let's go."

As the portrait of the Fat Lady clicked shut behind them, she didn't even ask after their business, far too accustomed to their twilit wanderings to be bothered by now. Besides, if they could handle a Dark Lord what could possibly be in the castle that would pose much of a threat? Merely suffering through the irritation of her slumber being disturbed she huffed, shook her head and settled back down for sleep as the visible duo rounded a corner at the end of the corridor.

If anything, the Seventh floor looked even more ominous now it was night, with only the flickering torches to briefly light the walls as the three Gryffindors shuffled down the hallway, wands out and tips lit with a soft _Lumos. _The door looming directly ahead of them was a ghastly sight, that sent a chill down Harry's spine, he heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath and Ron's deep swallow. Indeed, it was one thing to hear about the Room of Requirement being burnt out and another to _see _it. Even the Fiendfyre wasn't powerful enough to destroy the room, it'd merely been contained, vanished off into whatever abyss the closed rooms were sent to.

"Bloody hell." Ron whispered, eyes wide in awe.

"I told you."

They slowed as the gaping hole of the arched doorway loomed closer, the spidery black paths left by the flame a dark contrast to the pale marbled stone of the wall, inside shadows loomed deeply, as though unending. Hermione approached cautiously, wand raised as she reached out her free hand to glide her fingers across the stone and sucked in another breath, eyes flickering closed briefly. She opened them a moment later, lips pursed and stepped cautiously inside, Ron and Harry followed, both looking around. The vaulted ceiling was blackened beyond recognition, the walls and floor in a similar state, and the smell of smoke still loomed heavy in the air. It felt… empty, cold… like a tomb, and air seemed to breeze around the dark space with a whispering hiss that raised the hairs on their arms and necks.

"I've never heard of anything that could do this, Harry…"

There was a tremor to her voice but a firmness in her eyes that spoke a trip to the Restricted Section of the library at the first opportunity. They continued to wander, noting the lack of ashes in the room which hinted at it being empty before. Hermione stopped in the center of the room, brows furrowed and eyes fixed at a point on the floor while Ron and harry surveyed the far walls, it really was a vast space. Probably the largest of any opened room.

"Which room do you think burnt, Harry?" Ron inquired, eyes fixed on a particularly black spot at the back of the room.

"Dunno, could be any… probably doesn't matter though now, does it? The whole room is… dead."

Both shivered.

"Ron, Harry, come look at this."

Both hurried to Hermione, who was crouched in the center of the room, eyes narrowed as she rubbed at a spot of black with the hem of her robe, slowly, what looked to be a rune carved into the stone was revealed. She narrowed her eyes, it was a strange rune, one she didn't recognize and seemed to writhe even in its place on the floor. From a pocket she removed a bit of parchment and self-inking quill and set about replicating it carefully on the paper before folding it away and looking up at Ron and Harry.

"I don't recognize this rune at all, but it's a start at least. Strange for it to be in here like this, in the center. It's definitely not a normal rune."

Both boys nodded as she stood and with a final look around they decided there was nothing more to be found and returned to their tower. Hermione already musing over which sections of the library to scour in search of information. Her eyes were alight with the possibility of research and both boys shook their heads in amusement as they parted ways to their dormitories.

Harry fell atop his bed after changing into his pajamas, dreaming of fire and a glowing rune and Crabbe falling to his death amid swirling Fiendfyre.

He woke groggily the next morning to Ron shouting that breakfast was almost over and that they needed to hurry or they'd be late to Transfiguration.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Draco was released from the Hospital Wing with a final admonishment from Madam Pomfrey and orders to keep hydrated and return if he felt any negative symptoms again. He just barely made it in time for Transfiguration after gulping down pumpkin juice and nibbling at a strip of bacon. Classes were uninteresting, his attention constantly wandering but the headache lessening throughout the day. Lunch and dinner were repeat of previous meals, with more meat being consumed than other options but still in meager amounts.

He dreamed of the temple again that night, of blustery winds and grains of sand brushing against his skin and the white-washed sky with what seemed to be a perpetual Eclipse. The whispering voices urging him to explore, serpents slithering here and there, coiling at his feet and the ring on his left hand writhing in anticipation.

He woke the second day agitated and moody, despite having slept quite soundly compared to previous nights. It was nearly impossible to focus and the antsy feeling was crawling beneath his skin once more. Before breakfast Draco already snapped at Blaise, who rolled his eyes and counted it off as the blonde's usual dramatics, and had Pansy glowering at him as though here were mud on her shoe. The only good thing was the absence of his headache and nausea – not that Draco really noticed, given the foul mood he was in. Not even Weasley melting his cauldron could bring a smirk to his face. He skipped dinner, claiming he was rather sleepy and retreated instead to the silence of the Astronomy tower.

It was peaceful up there, with the winds tousling his hair and nothing but the distant sounds of the world a murmur to him. Draco felt quite at peace as he watched the full moon cast luminous light across the Forbidden Forest and the stars twinkle solemnly from the vast darkness of the sky. He still recalled the last time he was here, the night Dumbledore died and his offer of aid Draco belatedly considered accepting. What would've happened if he accepted? Would he be here now or dead like so many other students for defying the Dark Lord? It was rather pointless thinking, but the tower brought back the memories in a sort of detached manner he couldn't help but muse on.

It was almost midnight before he returned to the dorm, after partaking of the rounds required of his Head Boy position. More time to think, more time in solace and silence he reveled in a way he didn't think he ever would.

He dreamed of the war that night, of the faces of his fallen fellows, tears at funerals and the overlay of voices at the Death Eater trials.

Draco woke the next morning once again agitated but not in as foul a mood as the previous day, but also in no state of mind to desire conversation with his house mates. He woke earlier than usual, the sun was just breaking on the horizon and he left even before Blaise woke to take breakfast in the kitchens – another meager affair before setting about the day. Everything was going smoothly, discounting the glances cast by his friends at his stand-offish behavior – until Charms.

They were reviewing engorgement charms, and how they could be applied to larger spaces – such as homes, rooms, tents, muggle cars et cetera to provide more space. They were to practice on cages to be sent down to Hagrid to house the oaf's latest assignment. It was more a review of technique before the assigning of an essay than any real learning lesson. Still, what should have been a simple enough charm exploded out of proportion the minute Draco aimed his wand and chanted the incantation. The cage exploded in size, knocking into Blaise and didn't stop until he was nearly ten feet tall. The blonde gazed up at it wide-eyed as Professor Flitwick squeaked and hurried over, asking an endless stream of questions and urging Draco to demonstrate exactly what he'd done – sans incantation. Brow furrowed, the little Professor asked him to shrink the cage – and he did so… only, that didn't work quite right either as the thing was small enough to fit in a dollhouse by the time it stopped shrinking.

Flitwick was at a loss but Draco was rather miffed, he'd not had trouble with charms before – charms was a class he rather easily excelled at and to have such a stupidly simple charm over power – when normally he was quite well controlled, was ridiculous.

Draco took lunch in the kitchens once again, and adamantly avoided his friends as he retreated to the library where Granger was pouring over books, researching something. He sneered at her as he passed and she merely pursed her lips before returning to scribbling down notes. He would've bypassed her without a thought had it not been for the rune scribbled on a piece of parchment.

He recognized it, oh most definitely, but he wasn't about to say anything to Mudblood Granger about it so he continued on, wondering where the girl found it. The idea left an anxious feeling in his stomach and he had half a mind to steal the parchment away but repressed the urge and shook off the foreboding as he selected a desk in one corner and began his homework.

Nothing overly remarkable happened again until the next Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. They were set up to practice dueling equipped with a new shield charm, a variation of _Protego _but more specialized to particular curses. Lucky Draco he was set to spar with Longbottom, who seemed nervous but not near the fit of hysterics being near Draco used to send him into. It was rather disappointing really, and a shame he couldn't choose his partner.

The professor gave them the go ahead and Draco nodded for Longbottom to go first, the boy cast a _Reducto _at him which sprang off his shield quite easily. Another nod and they switched stances, Longbottom ready to defend as Draco hurled the curse back at him. The shield went up, a shimmering barrier of safety and Draco was reluctantly impressed, waiting to watch the curse bounce off so they could continue.

It didn't bounce.

It exploded through the barrier and crashed into Longbottom's arm, who gave a shriek as blood exploded from the wound while he was hurled into a far wall, knocked unconscious. Draco was frozen in place, eyes wide and disbelieving. It shouldn't have broken through, there was no way the shield charm wasn't appropriately cast. Longbottom should've dodged… the _Reducto _shouldn't have been that strong.

But it was and the class was in an uproar as he stood frozen in place while the Professor carted Longbottom off to the infirmary and whispers erupted everywhere.

"What the hell was that, Malfoy!" Weasley, of course. He was red in the face with clenched fists. Draco cast him an indifferent look and just managed to sneer.

"It isn't my fault Longbottom can't properly defend himself."

"The spell was too strong." Granger of course, looking perplexed, undoubtedly she noticed the strength of Longbottom's shield as well. Stupid know-it-all.

Draco scoffed but spun on his heel and strolled away, ignoring Wesley's insults. He really wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. His magic had gone out of control again, just as in charms. He hadn't cast the spell that strongly, rather casually just in case. I last glance back had his eyes locking with Potter's, who gave him a hooded look, almost guarded and it set Draco on edge. Gnashing his teeth behind closed lips as he propped against a far wall to await their Professor.

The incident was marked off as an expected accident but he was told to be more careful about the strength of his spells in future practices, after all, they were just that.

The fool, as if Draco would attempt to harm another student in such a stupidly Gryffindor maneuver.

The next several days passed in a breeze of classes, homework and avoiding his classmates. The weekend came and went, and the next week was beginning without too much of an issue. For the most part Draco avoided the Golden Trio, and he could see Blaise and Pansy becoming more concerned. The Astronomy Tower was once more a regular haunt in the evenings and his dreams continued to vary between the strange temple and flashes of memories of the war. Nothing more major happened in his classes again, but he had exploded a goblet in the Great Hall the one evening he talked himself into taking on the frustration the constant chatter and noise brought. So much for that idea. The charms he performed in class still came out either too weak or too strong, but that wasn't much of an issue and Professor Flitwick quickly seemed to admit defeat with merely casting him a look. At least the uncontrolled magic was constrained to performing spells, for the short period of time.

Wednesday Draco woke feeling flushed and covered in a clammy sweat, he showered on a much lower temperature than normal – usually preferring scalding. A glance in the mirror showed the vestiges of his restless sleeping, although better than summer, still wasn't sound. His eyes carried a glazed look to them, and a ring of black marked the edge of his once perfectly gray iris. It was a small notation he wrote off as being in league with a his exhaustion – which seemed to be increasing of late.

He melted his cauldron in Potions, it was really the first step Draco took to becoming worried about his magic's instability. His cauldron was perfect, even Slughorn had to admit that when he swept down to admonish Draco – it shouldn't have boiled over, and definitely not destroyed a cauldron. It was complete when it happened, Draco simply allowed his mind to wander, his thoughts to blank as was so common now and the agitation rose, the frustration simmered and the cauldron was done for. He didn't explain this to the man of course, but let it hang as a mystery as the other students looked on in wonder and confusion and – in Weasley's case – smugness.

It was nearly one in the morning when Draco made his way back to the common room, the castle was so blissfully silent, but it seemed to whisper to him. The shadows shifted as clouds passed over the moon outside the great windows and the torches flickered in a draft. The low hum of magic lulled his thoughts to a buzz, not entirely focusing on anything. Long, pale fingers drug along the stone wall as Draco descended the steps to the dungeons, steps silent and graceful – as they should be.

The Slytherin common room was empty as Draco stepped through the stone wall, grateful he silently made his way to the dorm and exchanged school robes for pajamas before slipping beneath the soft sheets of his bed and drawing the green curtains tightly. Sleep claimed him easily.

_Sand dusted across his cheeks and wind tousled his hair as he stood before the two large stone doors. The sky was bright and clear and starkly white and the temple seemed to echo with a murmur of voices chanting a prayer, led by a deep, solemn voice which bellied wisdom though he couldn't understand the strange language. _

_Lost. Forgotten. _

_The hissing voices urged him on. _

_Open. _

_Open the door. Go inside. _

_The stone was warm against his bare feet, the doors grooved from hieroglyphs as he pressed his palms flat against them, watching the black serpent writhe on his finger._

_Open._

_Open the door. _

_The doors were soundless as they opened into a deep darkness that seemed to exhale over him before inhaling again and drawing him inside. He took one tentative step, then another, eyes fixed to a point of pale gold light within as the doors swooped closed behind him with a soft thud that echoed finality. _

_The voices chorused the approval. _

_So close so close so close. _

Draco woke feeling cramped and cold, and sleeping against something distinctly _hard _with the smell of dust and disuse on the air. His nose tingled with a sneeze but he repressed it in favor of groaning and rolling to his back. It was so _cold _where was he? Eyes flickered open blearily, taking in the few feet he could see in the non-existent lighting of what was unmistakably the dungeons. His head snapped up, muscles protesting the motion as they groaned from his curled position on the stone floor.

Around him he could see bare walls with unlit sconces and dust coated floors, the chill crept to his bones and Draco shivered, shoving slowly to a stand in search of a door. He found it with ease, although he didn't have his want, it wasn't too terribly hard to see – but most definitely hindered his ability to distinguish his surroundings enough to keep from being turned around.

Wonderful.

He kept one hand to the wall as he made a slow trek in a random direction, what he hoped was the correct one given he didn't recognize this portion of the school at all. It felt incredibly old, lingering with the tang of Dark Magic – heavy Dark Magic of the kind that lingered around Voldemort… but different somehow. He passed several doors, only a few he stopped to peer inside. After the third room with a stone cot and what looked to be an iron grate drain in the floor he stopped looking for a time… until a set of double doors gave him hope.

He really rather wished he hadn't opened them. Draco didn't know blood could hold pungency for such an obviously long period of time.

He was in the real dungeons now, and the room he'd just emerged from was nothing short of a Medieval torture chamber. He shivered, pale faced as he staggered from the room with its many iron contraptions, chains, beds of spikes and the all-too-muggle Iron Maiden. There'd been tables with sheets pulled over them, the vague outlines of tools and jars and most definitely more sadistic devices of torture strewn beneath them. He cast a final glance back to the doors he hadn't completely closed, shrouded now in the darkness and continued on with nary another thought.

One didn't stop and ponder the why's and if's of a room in a thousand year old castle when they found a torture chamber. They conveniently pushed it from their minds and attempted to move as far from the chamber as possible. Well, if one were intelligent they did. Draco imagined the Golden Trio would be impossibly scandalized by the discovery and he contemplated, if he remembered the way back, leading them on a chase with well-placed clues, down to the chamber.

He could just imagine the look on Granger's face.

Draco savored the thought as he came upon another set of double doors after several turns and a flight of stairs. Pushing them open more carefully than the last, he was relieved to find the room empty save a raised dais flanked by what looked to be a portrait. It was empty of course, but it was the landscape which drew his attention. A stone temple in a desert that looked wildly familiar, but then, much of the European culture and their hallmarks had been brought over with the Roman invaders. Temples as they were on the continent, and the muggle churches were often common themes among older paintings. The temple in the painting was rather ambiguous, no markings, but open aired with a touch of Egyptian influence in the graceful curve of the pillars that rose to support an open roof. He wondered, as he left, who once occupied the frame - if anyone.

It felt like hours before he stumbled through a wall he leaned up against to rest, that he came to a portion of the dungeons he recognized. They really weren't that far off from Slytherin, a few corridors over in a portion of abandoned classrooms and sealed quarters – like as not old teacher housing. Draco's relief was audible in the sigh he released as he crept through the common room and back into his own bed, the hangings pushed carelessly aside.

He must have slept walked, not that he'd ever experienced _that _before – it was a rather curious thing to imagine. Wandering into an old – obviously hidden – portion of the castle in his sleep. But he was too exhausted to ponder this and collapsed into his bed without drawing the hangings and curled gratefully under the slowly warming duvet.

Sleep came again, dreamless, within minutes.

**.**

* * *

**.**

He was burning, boiling really, from the inside out – trapped beneath something impossibly heavy but the heat refused to subside. It increased, pushing outwards from his core and yet he was still cold, shivering and frozen at the same time the fire blazed to a peak.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and immediately released him with a hiss.

"Draco! You're burning up!" Pansy. She sounded incredibly concerned.

He rolled over, mouth parched, his tongue felt like wool and nothing refused to surface beyond a whimper but he forced his puffy eyes open and images swam into view. Pansy leaning over him with Blaise returning to the room with a towel he charmed wet and cold and patted at his face.

It was then he realized he was tangled in his blanket, his clothes clinging to his body with sweat and his skin felt clammy, flush and feverish next to the uncomfortable heat of Blaise's hands.

"You've a fever. You need to go to Pomfrey." Blaise's smooth voice was a reprieve to his ears and his groaned, closing his eyes and wishing for nothing but sleep.

"NO! Wake up, we have to take you to the Hospital Wing. It's still early, if you hurry we can make it before too many students are about to see you."

Draco nodded deliriously, kicking and squirming out of his blankets until Pansy and Theo helped and drug him to a standing position. They released him only to watch as he swayed precariously and almost toppled over. His mumbling was eventually translated to be 'water' and pansy urged them to dress him in cloak and shoes as she filled a basin and glass on the nightstand with water from her wand and pressed it to his lips. He sipped laboriously, feeling sanity return in tiny increments with every sip until the glass was empty. Draco nodded his thanks as a cloak was tossed over his shoulders and clasped.

Partially clothed, Theo and Blaise half carried, half walked him to the Hospital Wing where Madam Pomfrey took one look at him and exploded into a frenzy.

"Take him to a bed! By Merlin. What happened?" Pansy followed her as males helped Draco into a bed and out of his cloak and shoes.

"We're not sure, Blaise woke to find him thrashing about and moaning in his sleep. He was burning when we touched him, obviously feverish. Other than that we're not sure."

"Nothing unusual then? No parties or anything of that nature?" Pansy shook her head at the matron.

"No ma'am, nothing. Other than he has been keeping to himself lately, staying out until well past curfew and not sleeping or eating well."

Pomfrey pursed her lips but nodded and excused the girl before ushering the other two Slytehrins out and casting a number of spells over Draco. She tutted and shook her head occasionally before sighing and rushing off. She returned shortly after with a blue bottle she dumped down his throat and began mixing up other potions which she ordered him to drink and he did so, to the best of his ability. The fever washed away any sense of taste, all he could focus on was the haze and the heat and the dizziness.

Draco barely noticed the ache in his muscles receding, the fire taking a back seat as darkness overcame him once more. He didn't feel Pomfrey dabbing at him with freezing towels and placing them about his body, casting her monitoring charm and making one last gander at diagnostic spells before sighing and rushing out of the Hospital Wing.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Consciousness came and went with flickers of dim light and shadowy figures hovering over him. The glimmers of sanity brought with them the press of vials to his lips and the disgusting taste of strong potions before the cleansing coolness of water and he was back in the darkness again.

He didn't know how long he slept, but waking was a much more difficult feat than he remembered. If not for the soft murmur of voices so near his bed he might not have woken at all, but Draco clung to them – anything to escape the dark and stillness. He couldn't understand what they were saying but the quieted as he shifted, eyes pinching and brows furrowing.

"Mister Malfoy?"

Madam Pomfrey. Her voice a hushed whisper as her cool hand touched his cheek, he sighed. It wasn't burning now, the fire abated, it was easier to grab at consciousness. Draco grunted, rolling his face away and into the pillow, eyes flicking slowly open.

The whole room swam, nausea roiled in his gut but the lights were dim, enough that his aching eyes didn't immediately flinch away from the flickering candle flame. The silhouette of Madam Pomfrey slowly pulled back, shuffling with something on the night table as he attempted to focus. A moment later she was leaned over him once again, pressing cool glass to his lips and urging him to drink. He swallowed three mouthfuls before turning away, the nausea tripling before receding along with the slow, dull throb of his headache.

Another figure came into view slowly, the lines clearing until he could make out the form of McGonagall standing near with Slughorn just behind, face creased with lines. They could be called worry lines but Draco rather doubted the man was at all concerned for him.

"Mister Malfoy, how are you feeling?" Pomfrey. Attention flicked back to the aged woman as she began casting a series of diagnostic charms.

"Better." He croaked, and reached to rub at his throat as she handed off a goblet of water. A few swallows and speaking was easier.

"What's wrong?" There was a sigh, a pursing of lips and eye contact between the three adults.

"Do you remember how you arrived here?" He shook his head, the last thing he remembered was stumbling into his dorm and sleeping.

"Your friends brought you here with an incredibly high fever, your body temperature is still elevated – you should still be experiencing feverish symptoms and yet you're not. At the moment, your body is lingering between one-hundred four and one-hundred five – dangerous temperatures but apparently now normal for you. Or, at the moment anyway."

His brows knit in confusion, it sounded a bit ridiculous. One-hundred four? That was practically bed-ridden delirium.

"At the moment?" Madam Pomfrey nodded, lips pinching and flicking to McGonagall.

"Your magic is increasing, it would seem. It would explain the small bouts of uncontrolled magic you've been experiencing. We can also attribute your abnormal eating patterns and disturbed sleep to this as well. Your friends informed me you have been recently withdrawn from them?"

Draco's eyes narrowed on her, why would his magic be increasing? Yes, he'd avoided his friends – he hadn't felt overly social lately. He really didn't see how that mattered unless the magic also affected his mood.

"Why has my magic been increasing? Is something wrong with me?"

"I'm not… entirely sure. We have a theory but it would require your answering a few questions as honestly as possible."

Pomfrey didn't look entirely pleased with the situation, probably the inability to solve whatever the problem was. McGonagall stepped forward to take over at his hesitant nod.

"In some instances, the presence of magical creature heritage within a bloodline can cause magic to fluctuate – usually this occurs at the beginning, middle and toward the end of puberty. Being that you are male, that isn't until somewhere around twenty-five – which means this could very well be the presence of…"

"NO."

The syllable was harsh, his eyes twisted hard as stone and a contemptuous sneer curling his lips. Mcgonagall's eyes flashed but she held her tongue, merely raising a sardonic brow to urge him on. Draco scoffed, nose slanting in the air and eyes averting from her as though he were most deeply offended, and really he rather was.

"I've read the genealogy books for both the Black and Malfoy families. There is no mention of any sort of… taboo breeding. My ancestors are wizards and wizards alone."

Silence fell, McGonagall's lips thinned to a flat line as she peered over her square spectacles at him. Slughorn looked rather put out and Pomfrey was bustling about preparing more potions – he hoped for the headache already returning.

"Be that as it may, longer… lines of wizards are known to edit out undesirable features of their heritage. Are there any unedited copies of the genealogy books you could request? It would not hurt to look. The other option is not preferable to this, I assure you, as it would almost definitely end with death."

His eyes widened comically.

"Death?" Her nod was solemn.

"Indeed, without any reason for your magic to be growing it can only point to instability. Your body would not be able to contain it or utilize it without also… adjusting. This adjustment would occur naturally if the growth is brought on by heritage. If not, it only points to the instability. Your magic could either be suppressed or allowed to grow. It can be hoped it will stop, but the very rare cases we found showed this highly unlikely."

"Other cases?" They researched quickly if they already found information, but that also pointed to inconsistency.

"Yes, indeed, you have been asleep for quite some time. Nearly four days, Mister Malfoy."

Draco's jaw dropped at what he was hearing. Four days? He'd slept, soundly, without dreams or nightmares for _four days_ ? Her smile was wan and short lived as she nodded to him.

"Madam Pomfrey has kept you sedated with potions for most of that time in an effort to relieve you of the fever."

Ah, that made sense. With a nod, Draco sat back against the pillows, accepted the potion and allowed the three to wander off, continuing their discussion from before he awoke. He caught mentions of 'fire' and the Room of Requirement but shrugged it off in favor of more serious thinking.

There was no way, absolutely _no way _his bloodline was tainted. He wanted to sneer at the very thought, but what McGonagall said was indeed true. Pureblood families had a tendency to… cover up or conveniently forget about undesirable facts of their history. Draco rubbed at his eyes, sighing, there really was nothing for it. He'd have to write to his mother requesting the books – preferably creating some tale about an assignment and hope she wasn't contacted about his situation before he learned more. The last thing anyone needed was a hysterical Narcissa at Hogwarts.


	6. Astronomy Tower

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**.**

**Chapter 6:**

**Astronomy Tower**

**.**

**.**

* * *

_Mother, _

_I would like to apologize for not writing sooner, as you can guess, school is rather busy with Head Boy duties and NEWT classes. However, there is a request I must make – due to a genealogy project I will need an unedited version of our genealogy books – for both Malfoy and Black lines. If you would be so kind as to send them via owl as soon as possible, it would be most appreciated. _

_Love, _

_Draco _

Well, it wasn't the most polite of all his letters but he rather did have other things on his mind at the moment. Draco wasn't sure which he would prefer, to find out there was a stain on his family's bloodline or to discover he could potentially be dying. Neither option was desirable really. Dying wasn't exactly something he wanted to face, though… neither was having the genes of some… _creature _either.

His nose wrinkled at the thought as he passed through the half-empty hallways of Hogwarts, making a brisk trek to the owlery where he attached the letter to the talon of his regal Eagle Owl and set it on its way. Hopefully the books would arrive within a few days-time and he would have an answer.

"So Pomfrey finally released you." Blaise chuckled as Draco took a seat next to him at the Slytherin table.

"Yes." Blaise arched a brow as Pansy leaned across the table with narrowed eyes, Theo was patiently listening.

"So? What did she say? You were burning when we brought you to her, bloody delirious honestly. Couldn't even speak."

Her voice was clipped and impatient and Draco sighed, rolling his shoulders and taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"I'll tell you later, I'm awaiting a reply from mother."

Three sets of incredulous and suspicious looks met him but Draco wasn't caving, not until he knew for certain one way or another. After he received the books and researched and spoke with McGonagall and Pomfrey, then he would tell them. No point opening his mouth now when it would only beg questions he had no answer to.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Two days, Draco went to Madam Pomfrey each day for potions to hold down the fever and a diagnostic check. His magic was still increasing. Blaise and Pansy knew something was up but he was tight lipped and no amount of bribing would convince Pomfrey to break her vows as a Mediwitch.

It was lunch when the owl arrived, a great large creature with charcoal and black tipped feathers with lamp-like eyes and a regal bearing. The parcel attached to its talons was rather smaller than he expected, probably a charm, and book-shaped – much to Draco's relief. His friends watched him suspiciously as the owl landed and hooted as he untied the parcel but didn't open it. Snagging a strip of bacon the avian took flight as Draco stood to exit the Great Hall as though nothing was amiss. The relief that washed over him as he exited the clamor was palpable – tension draining from his shoulders and tight expression relaxing.

It took a fair bit of restraint not to dash through the hallways back to his common room.

Hours later, hidden behind the drapes of his bed which were sealed and silenced with charms, Draco was becoming more anxious. The Black and Malfoy books showed nothing of marriages with any sort of magical creature. He traced several deviants who married a half-blood, muggle or Mudblood but nothing on the creature spectrum. There was a strange line which joined an ancestor, one farther back than the other, to a creature. It was a blood bonding spell – to twine the magic from the creature into the line… but that didn't have any impact on genes. Just reduced chances of Squib children while increasing potency of the magic in the line. Granted, it was a fair bit stronger generations and generations ago than it was now but some still trickled down.

It was disheartening to say the least, as he snapped the book shut. There was no point in tracing back as far as possible, it would be too far back for it to affect him and had the genes been kept alive, another creature would've had to married and produced children later on. Creature genes, like human, bred out eventually. The Malfoy's weren't all _that _inbred to counteract such things.

Which really left him no other option than going to see McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Hermione looked exhausted, but despite the shadows lining her eyes, the warm brown sparked with knowledge and success and excitement as she took a seat across from Harry and Ron in the Gryffindor common room. She seemed to be waiting for one of them to ask, but the imploring and curious expressions were all that were offered. She huffed, rearranged herself and removing parchment filled with notes, slashes and side-notes. Ron's eyes widened and he adjusted himself for better comfort. This was likely to be an extensive lecture.

"So." She began, chin raised and eyes fixed on the parchment.

"So?" They chimed.

"The rune I found isn't a rune at all. It is a sigil." Silence.

"Er… okay? What's the difference?"

"A sigil is a name, to put it simply, although the one we found was not… written in any language I recognized. A rune is like a letter, a part of an alphabet." Twin nods but still blank expressions.

"When I discovered it was a sigil, I thought it was perhaps a student who found some creative way to sign their work. As ridiculous as it is. However, I had to find what language the name was written in. It is written in glyphs, obviously, given the symbols used to make it up."

"So what name did you find?" Hermione shuffled uncomfortably.

"It will be hard to explain, not to mention I've never heard of anything like this being _real _before. It is believed to just be Muggle lore – from their Christian religion."

Harry nodded, he had a feeling what direction this was headed, having a bit of knowledge of it from growing up in the Muggle world. Ron just continued the blank stare.

"Christian?" Hermione nodded at the red-head.

"Yes, it is one of their oldest surviving faiths which took over after the pagan religions. Muggles used to believe the creatures we know to be real, were real as well, when they still had contact with the magical community."

This seemed to make some sense to Ron because he nodded.

"Right, well, the name signed is Astaroth. In the Muggle religion, he is a demon of Hell, a Prince to be exact. However, the name is also used for the old Goddess Astarte – but the sigil would have some differences."

She flipped her parchment around, allowing them to see the circle containing a five point star, parallel lines cut through the left and right side vertically with small circles at each end. Three dots marked the tip of each point and small flourishes extended horizontally from the left and right joints. The bottom joint, from a point in the center of the star, what looked to be a line with an intersecting point near the bottom which flared out – completed the sigil.

"Astarte doesn't have an official sigil, but this one is said to belong to Astaroth. I had to access the Restricted Section to find it."

"Err… so what _is _a demon? This one especially and does that mean it's running around setting fires and signing its name?" There was both amusement and disbelief in Harry's voice and Hermione gave him a tight smile.

"I'm not sure… I know it sounds absurd but… it is the only clue we have. From what I read, Astaroth is connected to the legend of King Solomon and his temple. Supposedly, he was a very wise man who trapped the souls of demons and used the sigils of their names to lock them away."

She bit her lip and ran a hand through her hair almost in frustration.

"Demons are… well, I suppose they are like powerful spirits. Traditionally they are believed to be evil… but from what I read they are more gray. I suppose any creature with power such as these would have, would cause troubles and be deemed evil… like Kappas – they aren't evil but they do love to trick humans and drown them."

"So what did you find on this Astaroth? Besides him being a Prince or whatever."

"As far as legend of him goes, he rules over legions of spirits and can manipulate and control souls of the dead. The descriptions of him describe him as looking like an angel with a staff and serpent in each hand, riding a dragon-like creature. Muggle magicians believed in ways to summon demons and command them to an extent."

Ron looked as though the very idea of a Muggle being a magician was utterly preposterous and Hermione was only slightly inclined to agree, after all, she'd heard and read of Aliester Crowley and men like him. There was also the Muggle pagan religions which still lived, to an extent, which paralleled many of the ways of certain branches of magic.

"Supposedly, the summoner could find truths of the Past, Present and Future – so long as they took precautions against the demon. Astaroth in particular liked to seduce mortals with philosophy, vanity and laziness. But it was believed he could also gift the human with command over serpents and instruct them in mathematical sciences and lead them to treasures. Although I rather believe that to be an exaggeration. I wouldn't want to know what he would demand in return, seeing as that only makes sense."

Ron looked incredulous and Harry looked a bit put out, Hermione sighed and drug two books from her bag. One, held the title '_Djinn of Islam' _and the other '_Excorcisms'. _Harry blinked, snickered and shook his head.

"Exorcisms, Hermione?" The girl scowled at him and opened the book on Djinn, whatever that was.

"I found the idea of demons as they are explained in Christianity, and therefore explained to wizards, a bit ridiculous. So, I looked of similar creatures which we _know _exist. I found the Djinn, they are most well known in Islamic beliefs but there are documented studies about them. The Djinn, or genie, can be good or evil – although I suppose not in the same way a human can. They are believed to be born of fire and smoke – and can grant wishes if released from an object they are trapped within. Usually, three wishes are given and the item most recognized is a 'lamp'. Although, this could be any number of items I suppose if the creature is sealed right. Djinn are spirits in the same manner as demons."

Ron looked a little more comfortable with this idea, rather than some crazy concept of a humanoid figure born from Muggle beliefs. Hermione found the ease with which he accepted the wizard knowledge over Muggle beliefs a bit annoying.

"So you think this 'demon' is really a Djinn causing trouble? And what's the other book for?" Harry pushed, eyes alight with the allure of mystery.

"Well, technically they are the same thing… Djinn were created before humans, so I've read, and demons and angels were believed to also come before humans. The only difference really is their name and function… where demons are believed to be universally evil and control a metaphysical world – Djinn inhabit the Earth."

The book on Exorcisms was placed open in front of them now. A more serious expression on Hermione's face had Ron and Harry leaning nearer.

"Demons are believed capable of 'possessing' a human and controlling them. Taking them over. There are a lot of Muggle stories about it, and they are always called out by the Word of God – or so the stories go. I looked up traditionally Exorcisms and I'm a bit… well, it's as ridiculous as demons really, some of them seem to be based on fanaticism than any actual evidence."

She shuffled as the other two nodded, Ron wasn't sure what an Exorcism was but it did sound weird.

"What do they do?"

"Well, an Exorcism as a bit like a spell, and it calls out the spirit within the human body. Most of the cases seem to just be generalized 'evil' spirits rather than an actual being. I think it'd be much more difficult in reality."

"So you think someone is possessed?" Harry sounded amused.

"Well, there is the possibility. Even Djinn are believed to be able to possess human bodies."

Harry nodded, eyeing the Exorcisms book with distaste.

"So you think we could use this, once we find the spirit or… possessed person? Question is, how do we do _that._"

"Well, I don't really believe this will work. But I want to read over things, and see if I can't find an actual spell or ritual for drawing out spirits – or trapping them."

Harry and Ron nodded.

"I don't know how we're supposed to find it though, we'll just have to watch."

A groan chorused, the two boys were never very good at the patience and waiting aspect of their 'adventures' and Hermione smiled indulgently at them before excusing herself to sleep.

**.**

* * *

**.**

McGonagall removed her spectacles, setting them on her desk and pinching the bridge of her nose, she seemed suddenly older than before, without the austere expression and glinting eyes – she looked her age. Draco shifted where he stood, hands slid into his pockets and an indifferent expression pulled across his face.

"You are quite certain Mister Malfoy?"

He nodded and she sighed, gesturing to the door as she stood and replaced her glasses. From his portrait, which Draco studiously avoided actually looking at, Dumbledore watched the proceedings with a slight frown on his face. Next to him Severus peered down his hooked nose in something like disdain, but his eyes seemed dull – the two men cast looks at each other but held silent as the two living occupants of the office left.

"His mother is likely to pull him out if she suspects ill health." The silken drawl did little to disturb Dumbledore's pensive expression.

"I'm sure the truth will come to light soon enough, Severus… lemon drop?" A very put upon sigh covered the soft snoring of other portraits as silence fell again.

McGonagall led the way to the infirmary, Draco wasn't entirely sure _why _they were going there. However, Madam Pomfrey met them just inside the door and led them to her office where the door was shut and locked. All of this for secrecy, because Draco would rather not have his… infirmary spread throughout the school.

"What is the news?" Pomfrey sounded anxious but her face was resolute.

"Nothing was found, other than an old blood bond – Dark Magic of some sort. Nothing to affect the genes."

McGonagall took a seat as she spoke, Draco remained standing and Pomfrey sighed heavily. After a moment, she nodded and turned to face her patient, wand flicking to and fro with a silvery-blue stream chasing after it, wrapping around him and apparently relaying information.

"Yes, it would seem the magic is still swelling… I'll need you to come in daily for check-ups, Mister Malfoy, we'll have to keep a very close eye on this…"

"What exactly _is _'this'?" He questioned, tone flat. They explained vaguely what it was, but gave no name, and he really would like to do his own research as well.

"_Opprimo Potentia _is the name of the… condition. There are no triggers, that have been documented. It would seem magic begins to multiply itself, growing beyond the limits of the body."

"And that means?" Oh he had a vague idea, but rather it be clarified than guessing.

"As a wizard or witch grows and ages, their core and magical 'system' grow and expand to accommodate their magic. The system is almost like the nervous system, in fact, magic is tightly coiled into our being and while it is not a physical system it is there – it grows and adapts and strengthens. In this scenario, the magic grows but the system doesn't expand to accommodate it. Imagine forcing too much air into a balloon – the air has nowhere to go, and eventually the walls of the balloon give out."

Draco nodded his understanding, although he was a bit pale. Images of tiny tendrils of magic running between his muscles and veins and beneath his skin, swelling and then exploding… he shook his head. The image wasn't pretty, he hoped he wouldn't suddenly explode with it.

"So it… explodes?" Pomfrey nodded solemnly.

"So… I'll explode?" At this she stopped, looked confused a moment and chuckled a bit forcibly.

"Oh, no no, the magic will explode outward – yes… but it would have to be a massive gathering in one location to blow up your whole body. It will likely manifest in sores, lacerations, ulcers, nosebleeds… you understand where this is going? Small bubbles building up throughout your body, and exploding, will cause you damage but nothing so dramatic as combustion."

Draco wasn't impressed, so rather than one fantastic explosion he'd have to slowly experience his body giving out… wonderful. Draco was not brave, he didn't like pain and he did not want to just… die without anything to be done for it.

"Will it be very painful?"

Pomfrey shook her head, wand finally done with swishing back and forth and she turned to a bookshelf to being looking through it.

"It shouldn't, there will probably be some discomfort… but the magic, when it gives out, damages your nervous system. Sensation will be lost, eventually you'll be bed ridden – I'm sure… it isn't a pretty condition, Mister Malfoy… it is one better spent amongst family and friends – away from stresses."

Draco eyed her but didn't comment as he watched her tug out several books and hand them to him.

"Rest, Mister Malfoy, we don't want to risk speeding the procedure up. This means no Quidditch… no, I'm sorry, but I must insist. I will not ask you to forfeit your position as Head Boy but I will advise you to cut back on duties, if at all possible. It is your decision how to go about that. Sleep, food and finding something to keep your mind off of the situation is important."

Draco nodded, lips thinned to a flat line as he accepted the books. McGonagall was watching with a sorrowful glimmer in her eyes – shocking, he thought, that she really cared – given his past offenses and everything.

"I'll write my mother myself." Both women nodded and Draco spun on his heel to exit the office and the infirmary.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Blaise, Pansy and Theo sat around the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, all three turned to him as he entered, books safely stashed away in the pockets of his robes.

"Draco! Where have you been? You missed classes… I have the homework, though." Pansy, of course was the first to speak as he dropped down onto the sofa and stretched out with a bored expression.

"Speaking with McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey… I have to quit the Quidditch team."

Silence. Theo and Blaise's expressions were nothing very nice, twisted in confusion and upset.

"Bloody hell… Why?" Theo broke the heavy quiet and Draco shrugged.

"Pomfrey believes I have a… condition… it will require me to quit the team – she claims to relieve stress and allow more time for rest." Pansy's face was white when she spoke.

"Condition?" Draco nodded to her.

"Yes. She thinks my magic is growing, hence the mood swings and lack of sleep and everything else. If it doesn't stop, things aren't looking good. I'll probably have to pull out of school."

More silence, silence that stretched heavy and oppressive and speaking it aloud seemed to bring home the finality through the haze of indifference he'd thrown up since the news in the infirmary. His stomach clenched and twisted, palms sweating as he rubbed them together as though to warm them, but he forced the dark thoughts far, far away to handle the present.

"How not good is not good, Draco? Does your mother know?" Pansy again, a hand resting on his arm and lip pulled between her teeth.

"Of course she doesn't know yet, there is a slim possibility they could be wrong – I don't want to worry her until it is necessary. Not good is… very not good. I could die…"

'_Probably will. The irony.' _He thought somewhat bitterly, but refused to confirm anything for certain. That would only worry them more – but not knowing for certain was likely to still worry them… he just didn't want their pity. Right now, it was unease and uncertainty. That he could handle, that he could deal with or avoid. Pity was disgusting, unnecessary and something he damned well couldn't handle from anyone. Nor did he want to try. With a sigh he stood, breaking their silence and thoughts with the slight noise.

"I've rounds to do, so I'll speak to you when I return or tomorrow."

With that he swept out of the room, leaving his friends to exchange concerned looks and attempt to reassure themselves through the dark thoughts. They survived a war, it really wasn't fair, and almost akin to some cosmic joke that one of them should die now. From something as mundane as a condition Draco didn't elaborate on except that it had to do with his magic – and none of them were versed enough in Healing to guess the topic without extensive research.

Being who they were, they were willing to wait for him to share more information when he was ready. They weren't Gryffindors after all, their pushy worry wouldn't be welcomed and they didn't entirely know how to enforce their worry and reassurances on him.

But that didn't stop the feeling of helplessness.

**.**

* * *

**.**

There was a meeting before the rounds, it was simple enough to inform the Head Girl that Madam Pomfrey gave him specific instructions to take it easy for a while, which meant she would – regretfully – have to shoulder a bit more of the duties. Granger looked pissed at first, but at his solemn expression seemed closer to asking more questions than being truly upset. She knew it wouldn't be welcome, and the shaky truce they held to do their duties would likely crumble under her nosing. So she conceded to merely observing and listening, to see if she couldn't discover clues one way or another.

It didn't miss her notice how strange the silence was, for a person like Draco Malfoy, who sought out attention, to withhold details of his ailment when before he'd brandished the situation like a medal for sympathy. It also didn't escape her notice he seemed to be the only student with any such problem – so it couldn't be something contagious – she rationalized. Definitely a situation to keep an eye on.

Rounds were boring now-a-days, with the war gone and Voldemort dead t most he could hope for was the odd couple out of bed to meet up for a late night rendezvous. Still, they never failed to occupy a hidden nook or space behind a tapestry – which he checked and resulted in a few detentions and lost points and sour expressions directed his way.

He couldn't bring himself to care, his thoughts were wrapped around the books in his pockets – shrunken for practicality and begging to be cracked and read.

The Astronomy tower once again became his haven for the night, where he sat with legs curled close and the first book opened to in depth information on _Opprimo Potentia, _complete with diagrams of the magical system which spanned the human body. It wasn't physical, as Pomfrey said, but a network of tendrils of magic wrapped around arteries, organs, muscle and tendon from head to toe. Everyone had a base network that was the same, but beyond that, where the network grew and expanded reflected each individual uniquely – patterns or extensions and size depending on the amount of magical power held by the witch or wizard.

It was interesting and informative, despite being a bit morbid and worrisome given he was afflicted by this rare 'condition'. Draco wanted to spit and rage in upset but he repressed the desire, because that meant acknowledging that he was – eventually – going to die. It wasn't a truth he was ready to accept, but when the short chapter ended he couldn't bring himself to read over the various studies – small in number and filling a small book with their knowledge.

He didn't want to know what he was to expect because that made it more real and more frightening that his body was simply going to give up on him.

He wasn't ready to die, he just survived bloody _Voldemort _for this stupid _disease _to cripple and kill him.

Draco was of the opinion he would've rather died bleeding out from Potter's _Sectumsempra _curse than face this – but he hadn't and now he had to face it.

He was going to die.

It was truly a bit depressing but he couldn't seem to focus his thoughts in a more positive direction and the ineffability of the situation came crashing down with all its weight. _'I'm going to die… in a bed, useless and numb. Like a disgusting Muggle with failing organs and sores everywhere.' _It was disgusting. Why couldn't this be solved by magic? Why couldn't they force the network to grow? It was some aspect of the disease that caused the network to stop growing along with the magic.

Draco stood, forcing back the pricking heat in his eyes he knew were tears and retired to his dormitory for a restless sleep that didn't come and left him hovering between dreams and consciousness.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Classes and days blurred together with sleepless nights and Draco was once again back to casting glamours to cover the dark purple circles ringing his eyes. The nights were spent brooding in the Astronomy Tower, cursing his luck and reading through case studies in the second book, he'd read two so far… and what he found didn't look promising.

It was another such night, sleepless and wrapped in his cloak spelled against the chill of the cooling nights with the book opened in his lap. He was on the third study but not really reading. Thoughts swirled depressingly in his head, along with the clench of his stomach that often refused to keep down food. Even the rare meat he'd found normally beckoned some appetite seemed distasteful.

Dying. Slowly, ugly and humiliatingly. He'd come to terms with it, he supposed, he'd spent going on four days moping about it. Might as well suck it up and accept there was nothing to be done about it. Draco was protected by apathy by this point, although sometimes, when he watched his friends laugh and bicker over homework and gossip, he felt a pang of envy and anger – it was all sucked into the void stretching in his chest. It was like poison, it fed his desire to stay alive and the depression he fought to hold at bay.

He was a Malfoy, he may be dying but he'd still hold his dignity. He wouldn't cry or pout but there was nothing to be done for the brooding and pulling himself away from his friends – though it seemed they tried harder than ever to keep him close.

The door creaking pulled him from his musings and Draco turned to find Potter standing behind him with a crumpled piece of parchment in hand and a cloak being shoved into the pocket of his robes. He scowled, just what he needed, stalked by Potter again.

"What do you want, Potter?" His voice was flat, annoyed at the interruption but the lack of venom seemed to catch the Gryffindor off guard.

"Noticed you slinking around the tower a bit often."

His eyes narrowed and darted about as though expecting to find some sort of devious instrument of trouble lurking about. Draco rolled his eyes, gestured to the book in his lap.

"As you can see, I merely find it a pleasant place to escape and read for a while. Question is, what the Gryffindor Golden Boy is doing wandering the halls – not a Prefect and I don't see your little friends tagging along."

Potter shrugged at him and Draco scowled as the other walked over and took a seat across from him, eyes flicking out over the grounds as he rested his arms across bent knees.

"Trying to get away for a bit, easier to think when it's quiet." Draco scoffed at this and rolled his eyes before returning to the book he was pretending to read, wishing Potter away.

"You know there was a fire." Draco groaned, glaring up at Potter in annoyance but the other just stared at him.

"Should I enumerate the many reasons why it would be pointless to start a fire in a _stone _castle or are you here to drag me off to McGonagall?" Potter frowned and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I don't think you did it." He glared at the derisive snort Draco gave him. "I don't. The fire has no magical signature and it was in the Room of Requirement…"

Draco looked up now, intrigued despite himself. "Did it not occur to you it could be remnants of the Fiendfyre?" Potter shook his head.

"The Professors put it out, the Fiendfyre was contained by the room… this one broke out of it… it felt like the magic was sucked out… the stone is still black, and they can't find out _how _it started… like the fire at your Manor."

Draco's eyes widened slightly, another fire like the weird one at the Manor? They narrowed fractionally, lips pursing as he thought.

"You think it was caused by the same thing." Potter nodded despite the lack of question.

"Hermione found a rune in the room, well, she called it something else… a sigil I think… bloody weird is what it is…" At Draco's pointed look he sighed, glared and folded his arms.

"Did you find anything weird about the fire at the Manor? Was there a sigil or rune there?" Draco shrugged half-heartedly despite being interested. If there was some evidence, then that could mean they'd find who set the fire… or what.

He wasn't quite sure why that bothered him, like a niggling at the back of his mind he should throw Potter off. Draco shrugged it away and leaned back, thoughtfully.

"It was in a strange place, to be an attack on my family. Didn't make much sense, and the wards didn't react to an intruder – father and the elves didn't find anyone either. The damage can't be removed and… yes, the room felt strange after… but I don't know about the magic being sucked out. It felt as it did when the Dark Lord used it."

Potter nodded, brows scrunched in thought and Draco looked back to his book, closing it as he stood and dusted himself off.

"Well as intriguing as this discussion was, since all of that was printed in the Prophet, I think I'll be going now."

He swept from the Astronomy Tower, ignoring Potter's call that he wasn't finished asking questions. Idiot wasn't a bloody Auror – not yet anyway – and it really wasn't his business. Stupid Golden Trio always had to stuff their stupid noses where they weren't wanted or needed and who was the first person they came running to with pointed fingers? Him. Well, perhaps not this time. This time it was just questions, but he really didn't want those either. He wanted to be left alone to brood and mope and read.

Stupid Gryffindors.

**.**

* * *

**A/N: **Information on Astaroth found researching Demons of Goetia.

Solomon was the first believed to entrap demons, to either do his bidding or remove them from the equation, but others such as the author of _The Magus _(found on The Sacred Text Archive) and Aliestor Crowley discovered ways to summon and make demands of the demons – so long as the summoner took special precautions unique to each demon.

Both men combined Christianity with aspects of Alchemy and 'Magic' to summon and control the demons.

Information on Djinn is what is given by Imam Ibn Taymiya

Ideas on Exorcisms do not reflect personal beliefs, just that I find the depictions of them given in film and story ridiculous and trite compared to the fear of the power of the spirit that is always given.

Some facts are exaggerated, made up, based on movies or stories etc. to add a bit more fun.

_O__pprimo__P__otentia_: overwhelming power in Latin


	7. Indicia

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**.**

**Chapter 7:**

**Indicia**

**.**

**.**

* * *

**FIRE AT HOGWARTS SCHOOL: NO LEADS FOUND**

'_In a startling turn of events, a fire has broken out in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While not made of wood, the castle has faced damages from the spontaneous burning which seem to resist Ministry and teacher attempts at repairing the damage. _

_Last week, Headmistress McGonagall contacted Ministry Officials requesting a team to investigate the fire. In a most interesting discovery, the team is the very same which was dispatched at the start of term to Malfoy Manor to search clues in a similar case. _

"_We can't find any sort of signature, these sorts of things are rare, and I've never heard of a fire burning up stone as this one did. Even Fiendfyre, just goes to show how dangerous the Dark Arts are. It's our only lead, but without any suspects likely a dead end." Comments an anonymous source from the team. One must question the safety of wizard children when such catastrophes are breaking out so close together. _

_Other sources confirm that it seems the Magic all alumni of the prestigious institution will be familiar with, has been 'sucked out'. Sources commented that the stone and area feel like a 'dead zone', where the rest of the castle is alive with magic this particular room is not. Whether this can be attributed to the fire, or the reason for the excessive burning is, as yet, undecided. _

_Should anyone have any further information they are urged to owl Barnabas Roarshack, Head of the Department of Magical Investigation or Head Auror Gawain Robards.' _

Hermione set down her edition of the _Daily Prophet _with a pinched expression, eyes flicking up to Harry and Ron. There was no way they'd hand over information to the Ministry, not when they would just laugh about the sigil they found, given their own crews managed not to find anything. They would also be questioned about _why _they were shifting about the site of an investigation – the _Prophet _would go wild with the potential scandal of their still-new 'Savior'. Harry's expression said he shared her sympathies and without a word the trio rose and left the Great Hall for the grounds, there was still some time before their first lesson and it gave them time to talk.

"I spoke with Malfoy last night." Harry volunteered, shuffling at Ron and Hermione's blinks.

"Er… why'd you talk to that git?" Ron questioned, frowning slightly as he bit into a piece of toast. Harry shrugged.

"I've noticed him leaving the Astronomy Tower late at night, when I'm out walking… thought it strange, then remembered the fire at the Manor. Thought I'd ask him if he noticed anything odd… mentioned the sigil we saw but he didn't seem very interested."

Hermione's eyes sharped as she focused on Harry.

"You don't think he has anything to do with this? Even if he is a prat, there's no way he could cause a fire like that." She offered tentatively, Harry offered a weak grin as he sat on a stone bench.

"Not really, but the fire was at his home too and I was curious. He answered easy enough, mostly the same things the Prophet said… except the said the room that burnt felt strange after. Said it felt the same as when Voldemort used it. Dunno what that means, he left before I could ask." Hermione seemed thoughtful.

"Maybe he meant it felt like Dark Magic? Or… since so many people died there… you described the Room of Requirement as feeling dead, but I doubt Malfoy would've stayed to investigate the place in the Manor. He'd be more likely to leave it to his parents to handle, or leave because of how it felt…"

"Yeah, the git isn't exactly brave." Ron chortled and Hermione rolled her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. Harry grinned at them but nodded.

"Anyway, he has been acting strangely lately… and during our meeting he said he had orders from Madam Pomfrey to 'take it easy'." Ron choked as Hermione spoke.

"Take it easy? That's all the bloody hell he ever does… stupid pra-" Hermione sighed and continued over the red-head's mumblings.

"Well, he doesn't exactly look in top form, right? He seemed distracted when we met and wouldn't elaborate… and we all know how he is about maladies. He just relayed her message and set off for rounds."

Harry looked thoughtful and Hermione held silent, watching him, knowing he had phenomenal intuition about these things. At last he sighed and mussed his hair with an irritated expression.

"Not much we can do but watch him, I suppose. Just wish we had more to go on than a sigil and two fires." Hermione nodded in agreement but made a mental note to be more observant during meetings.

**.**

* * *

**.**

It was almost noon on Saturday and the sky was a darkening charcoal, the wind was blustery and it was the first match of the season. Against Slytherin. Not optimal conditions, and Harry was seriously hoping it wouldn't start raining, he wanted as much of an edge as possible and rain – while not enough to cancel the match – was definitely a hindrance to everyone.

The Gryffindor team stood ready behind the doors as the announcements began and the thunder of footsteps died down to be replaced by cheers and boos from the gathered houses. With a final nod to his team, Harry stepped out and led the way to the center of the pitch, where the Slytherin team was approaching opposite. Blaise Zabini was in the lead with Theodore Nott to his left – but Harry saw no flash of platinum blonde in the group and his brows furrowed, eyes flicking to Zabini's tense face and squared shoulders but the boy just scowled and shook his head marginally.

They shook hands and Harry wanted to ask where Malfoy was but Hooch was blowing the whistle and releasing the balls, in a matter of seconds both teams were in the air and Harry's worries whipping away with the wind like so much dead weight being shirked for a giddy lightness flying always brought him.

The game began in earnest and he had time to observe the replacement Seeker for Slytherin. A small boy with mousey hair and a nervous expression he fought valiantly to hold control over, but he was pulled on a bit last minute from the looks of things and definitely wouldn't have beaten Malfoy out for Seeker. Harry clamped down on the disappointment, where their rivalry had fizzled out to sarcastic quips and the occasional shoulder pump and nasty look – Quidditch was the last place it could blaze in all its glory. The only Seeker on the teams Harry felt challenged by – and now it seemed that was gone.

Only question was, why? Malfoy loved Quidditch, as far as Harry could tell, both were highly competitive about it and the other was hell-bent on beating Harry to the snitch. Why drop the team? Unless… Pomfrey's demands to 'take it easy' included Quidditch…

"Oh look! I believe the Slytherin Seeker has spotted the Snitch! I do hope he's okay, he looks a bit shaky on the broom…"

Luna's voice cut into his thoughts and with a curse Harry whirled about until the other Seeker came into sight, making a shaky dive after the glittering gold ball. Without hesitation, Harry dove after it, nearly flat of his broom as he worked to make up the space. Not that he had to worry, it seemed as the kid almost lost his seat when a bludger zoomed too near.

**.**

* * *

**.**

From atop the Astronomy Tower, Draco ignored the game, though the shouts and cheers still filtered into the space – if he wanted, he could look up and watch the little blots of red and green zooming about but that only gave way to a pang and anger. He should be out there flying, beating Potter and winning Slytherin points. He shouldn't have had to step down and let the poor Third Year who really wasn't cut out to be Seeker, but was the best of those who tried out last minute, go head-to-head with Potter. As far as Draco was concerned, the game should've been forfeit – might as well save some dignity since there was no way they would win… but he supposed Blaise would use the uncertainty of the Seeker to throw off the other houses and then have him better prepared for the next game.

With a scoff he shook the thoughts from his head and turned to the page of his book. He was near the end now, this was the second to last case study recorded for the _Opprimo Potentia. _With a breath he readjusted himself and set about reading, hoping for some glimmer that could point them in the direction of a positive outcome. Anything, really.

**CASE STUDY: GENESIS POTION ON OPPRIMO POTENTIA – DONNAVEN 1872**

'_Donnaven, Shawn – aged twenty eight has been diagnosed with Opprimo Potentia. A disorder which assaults the magic of a witch or wizard, hindering the growth of the network of magic throughout the body and exponentially increasing the wizard's magic until it cannot be contained by the body… _

… _The first stage of the disorder, is marked by alteration in behavior of the afflicted. Friends and family and victim may notice changes in appetite, mood and irregular sleeping patterns. These symptoms seem to persist throughout the entirety of the affliction and are easily misconstrued as symptoms of other problems and common ailments. _

…_The fevers begin at two weeks, accompanied with delusions from the high temperature and Healers must take careful note to watch temperature as it can spike at any moment. A simple regimen of potions helps with this. Patient Donnaven did not display symptoms of fever until three weeks, when he woke suddenly with delirium and pain to accompany to fever. Patient is recorded to have gone on about 'fire' burning him and did not recognize friend from foe. Sedation was necessary. _

_At one month, one week the magic and fevers began to stabilize, giving Healers hope for a misdiagnosis or a factor which may have pointed toward a potential cure. _

_Three days later the magic exploded in another jump in size. Two Healers were injured and suppression of patient's magic was mandatory as well as transfer to a secluded ward and twenty-four hour observation. At this point, Donnaven was offered the option to partake of an experimental potion; the Genesis Potion which was theorized to force growth within the system of magic(See Abramovich and Effects of Genesis Potion on House Elves, 1860)._

_Sores began to manifest by the end of the second week, accompanied by numbness or paralysis in the immediate area. The firsts were noted to show on the patient's forearms, small laceration or boil like sores which quickly festered or became infected if not treated promptly. _

_It is important to note that by this stage, familiar staff was mandatory – as those unfamiliar who approached the patient, unwittingly provoked retaliation from the patient's magic. He was removed from visitation by family. _

_It may also be important to take note of the patient's mental health during the time of affliction. Depression seems to set in upon diagnoses, but the disorder proceeded at a slower rate when surrounded by friends and family. When seclusion became necessary, noted increase in progression occurred. _

_By week three the patient's magic was highly unstable and sores began to manifest on shoulders and legs. Patient experienced paralysis in his wand arm up to the elbow and seemed more greatly affected by disorder…_

…_By the second month patient was completely bedridden, with numerous sores on arms and legs, as well as loss of sensation in feet and knee joints. Paralysis up to the knee followed a week later. _

_Three months and two weeks; the patient began to exhibit sores on back and chest, as well as sensitivity to light and touch. Within two days there was kidney failure, twenty four hours later multiple organs began to degrade and patient began to cough blood. _

_Paralysis of arms and legs halfway through the third week as well as incontinence and dementia. Patient could not form sentences or discern reality from fiction – noted brain damage due to swelling. _

_End of week three patient experienced minor heart attack and brain hemorrhaging. _

… _Start of month four patient died at approximately 7:52 a.m.'_

Draco felt sick as he shut the book, face notably paler. There was only one more study done on a victim, but the ending of the book reported all known cases – while mentioning many sufferers returned home to die in peace or took their own lives rather than face the horrors of the disease.

It was a disease magic couldn't cure, potions could slow and any attempts to stop or stunt seemed only to increase. Through all the studies, the symptoms were almost all the same, some went faster than others, some fell comatose within the first two months – but all were cases only deviated in speed by a maximum of two weeks.

When he stood, nausea and dizziness slammed into his gut causing him double over and spill the contents of his stomach across the stone floor. With a groan Draco supported himself against the wall and flicked his wand to clear away the mess. Thankfully, it was only stomach acid and the meager remains of his breakfast. With a couple of deep breaths the dizziness faded and nausea reduced to a slow roll – as it had been since the day before. With some effort, he forced himself to stand on his own and made the slow trek down to his dormitory.

Draco woke before dinner, where Blaise drug him to the Great Hall to lament their loss with a sigh before tucking into the food. Draco was left to push away grogginess and irritation and force down a few bites of food before returning to his bed and blissful sleep.

**.**

* * *

**.**

_Red, red eyes glowered down at him as the sibilant voice whispered harshly and his eyes fixed on the hissing reminder, lurking not three feet away, that his life could come abruptly to an end between those powerful jaws. _

'_Crucio'. _

Pain erupted everywhere, setting nerve endings on fire and body blazing as though on fire, Draco groaned and writhed, kicking away the sheets and thrashing against his pillow with fingers gripped into the soft linen. It took him some time to realize the pain was real and not a part of the nightmare. By that point his head felt ready to explode and he could feel his magic seeping out of his body, hissing and spitting into the air.

'_Get out. Get out.' _

Out where? Where the hell was he supposed to go? Pomfrey's face floated through his mind's eye, but Draco shoved the thought away as he bit down on his lip, drawing blood he couldn't taste as it dribbled across his tongue and slid down his cheek to stain the white of his pillow. With a gasp he sat up, eyes wide and body shaking as the pain lessened and came back in undulating waves that nearly bowed his spine and locked his jaw.

'_The Forest the Forest. Run, get out Get out.'_

Draco staggered from his bed as quietly as possible, forgetting shoes, robe and wand as he made for the door, leaving it open as he stumbled against the wall to the common room. His vision swam and ran together, the world spinning as the voices urged him on and his body cramped up from the forced movement. His back ached, so he hunched his shoulders and ploughed on. Unable or unwilling to ignore the hissing voices.

It was a slow journey to the entrance hall, he'd broken a nail and bruised his shins, scraped a knee and almost knocked himself out in his journey – but thankfully he avoided detection. Sweat beaded and poured down his face and back, his breaths came in gasping pants and Draco very nearly felt dying would be preferential to _this. _

Cool, damp blades of grass felt like a blessing to his burning toes as he stumbled from the steps and onto the grounds, the looming shadows of the Forbidden Forest the only thing his brain was willing to focus on. He half crawled, half stumbled toward them, coating silk pajamas in leaves and dirt as an itch started between his shoulder blades. He tripped on roots and jerked his sleeve free of brambles that left small tears in his shirt as he barreled through the forest, blessing the darkness for the wan moonlight seemed to burn his eyes – a full moon. This must be something of what werewolves felt like whenever they fell under the luminous star's influence.

At last he seemed far enough in, stumbling to a clearing Draco collapsed onto his stomach and let loose the scream he'd fought back since leaving the school. It echoed and bounded through the trees, stirring birds and sleeping animals – but the voices were silent and the pain seemed to have found a focal point in his back. It was unbearable as fire licked out from his skin, charring the grass beneath his writhing body.

Tears stained his cheeks and blood oozed from the bite on his lip, feeling like dead flesh from his constant biting, when a final bolt of pain shot through him like lightening and he shrieked and went rigid as the fire erupted from his back, and the sound of tearing fabric was the last he heard above the soft hisses pervading the clearing before darkness claimed his mind.

'_Sand whispered past his cheeks, caressing his skin softly. It felt cool against the heat radiating from his body, like the hand of a lover cupping his face before an intimate kiss. _

_A shadow loomed before him, impossibly dark to be standing in the stark nakedness of the eclipsed sun and white-washed sky. It smiled, revealing long teeth and a bloody tongue, exhaling a breath across his face as it leaned in – it smelt noxious and he swore fire erupted from between those too-white teeth._

'_Wake up.' It hissed at him and he noticed a serpent coiled about its arm, raising its head and hissing softly in time with the words._

'_Wake up.'_

Draco's eyes snapped open and closed quickly with a grunt as filtering sunlight struck his face from the canopy of trees. More slowly this time, he opened his eyes and was met with the sight of a snake laying inches away, flicking its tongue out and observing him docilely. Draco's breath caught, eyes widening as the snake drew back to look down at him before issuing a final hiss that sounded like a laugh and slithering off. With a start, he realized he wasn't in the dungeons and noting a weight on his back, gingerly he sat up, surprised when the weight moved with him. Looking over his shoulder and down the length of his side, Draco wished he'd stayed unconscious.

There, laying still save for the occasional twitch or ruffle of feathers was a long, dark wing. It looked impossibly soft and radiated heat. The same repeated on the other side of his body and panic began to set in. Wings? Fucking _wings_? Attached to his shoulders, though he hadn't a clue how to move them, they were definitely wings. But why? How? He hadn't read anything like this in those books.

A twig snapped and Draco jumped, tensing as he peered of into the forest, noticing with some shock he could see farther, his gaze pierced the shadows as though light emanated from them. Another twig snapped and he tensed, reaching for a wand that wasn't there – remembering belatedly he hadn't grabbed it in his rush from the dorms the night before. A rush he remembered in only snippets and hadn't a clue why he'd listened to the voices hissing in his head.

A centaur stepped from the shadows, bow and arrow in hand as it observed him with a wary seriousness. Draco narrowed his eyes, reading to run despite the complaints of his cramped, sore muscles.

"Who are you?" He demanded, haughty as one can be when waking on a damp forest floor covered in mood and grass with dried blood clinging to their face.

The centaur stomped and narrowed his eyes. "You should leave here, return to the castle. You don't belong."

Draco drew himself up, chest huffing out and eyes slits, didn't belong? Indignant rage shot threw him like fire and his wings twitched and snapped out with a suddenness that shocked him – though he shoved it down at the surprise and increased uncertainty on the centaur's face.

"Leave." He demanded again and Draco shoved himself to a stand, glancing down only long enough to note a scorched, blackened mark remained in the shape of his body.

Unbidden, a chill slid down his back but with a nod, forcing away the strange anger, he turned and stumbled a few steps before making his way in what he assumed was the direction of the castle. It must have been, for the centaur seemed satisfied. It took effort, but after focusing, he discovered the wings seemed to respond to his thoughts, they drew in close to his body.

After man missteps he finally emerged from the forest, noting by the height of the sun lessons must have recently started. Good. That meant the halls would be clear. Last thing he needed were a bunch of gaping buffoons and Potter's too-curious friends.

McGonagall met him in the entrance hall, clutching a ratty parchment that looked oddly like the one Potter had in the Astronomy Tower. She blanched when she saw him, rushing forward in a flurry of robes and ushering him along. Draco went without protest, though his muscles ached and the wings were an unwanted burden. McGonagall didn't speak again until they reached the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey nearly dropped her potions taking in the sight of Draco, her eyes looked like saucers but he couldn't quite manage a sneer, so he flopped atop the nearest be with a grunt.

Sleep sounded delightful and the bed was oh-so soft, even if having wings was uncomfortable – they were _warm _and extremely soft. Sadly, before his head could hit the pillow the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open, admitting a fuming Pansy and amused Blaise and Theo. Pansy's eyes locked onto McGonagall and she was halfway through voicing a demand when Draco shuffled and her gaze snapped to him, narrowed and then widened in shock. He forced a smirk at her.

"Pansy, dear, as beautiful as your tonsils are, I'd rather not see them." Her jaw clicked shut with a snap.

"WHERE THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU!?" Blaise rubbed at his ear and Theo's brows nearly hit his hairline before he snickered.

"Miss Parkinson, I would appreciate you to refrain from shouting, and mind your language. I am sure Mister Malfoy will be more than happy to explain his whereabouts and his… situation."

Her brows arched as she looked at Draco, and he _knew _by that look alone that he better be very damned glad to tell them or he wouldn't at all like the consequences. He frowned with a sigh, ran a hand through the rat's nest that was his hair and sat up.

"I'm honestly not sure what happened… I woke up like this… well, the second time. The first time I was in pain and… I just… had to get out… I'm not sure _why _I left the castle but coming to Pomfrey seemed like a bad idea… so I ran to the forest… and err" He shuffled suddenly knowing how Potter must have felt under the glinting eyes of Snape. "Well, I passed out and then I woke up like this… it's not the only thing that's different either."

Pomfrey was at his side in a moment, wand waving wildly and expressions flying from concerned to irritated to confused. After a moment she stopped and pursed her lips, McGonagall was watching her carefully, as though waiting for some cue to comment – and Draco had a feeling her comments would be nothing nice or pleasant so much as insults. The woman had sniped with Snape for however at least nineteen years.

"Well… it would seem our diagnosis was wrong." Draco felt tension melt out of his body.

"How do you mean, Poppy?" McGonagall waved Pansy, Blaise and Theo to a chair as she conjured her own.

"It would seem someone in your family line is extremely good at keeping secrets Mister Malfoy, or you've some explaining to do. The magic in your body has grown exponentially, but is stable – nor does it seem to be causing any problems."

Draco jerked back, eyes narrowed and lips pinched tightly. There wasn't any other option, those books were not edited and he definitely didn't know how one went from human to creature outside of genetics. His expression said as much and Pomfrey sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"What are the other changes, Mister Malfoy?"

"My eyesight is better, I can see farther and… when I woke, there wasn't much difference between the areas with sunlight and the areas in shadow. Hearing is better too," He shot a glare at Pansy who shrugged and looked at her nails as though she'd no idea what his problem was. "and I've got… these."

Draco opened his mouth and gestured to the fangs, which seemed to recognize his jaw was pulled wide, as they slipped down – elongating at the incisor. Pomfrey looked nonplussed and fussed about for another moment while McGonagall simply observed, but Draco could see the storm brewing behind her eyes.

"Your body temperature is higher than normal. However, you most definitely aren't feverish…"

"How high is it?"

"One-hundred four degrees. It is a bit disconcerting, I must admit… but if that is now your natural state then there isn't much that can be done."

"Well at least I'm not going to die." He grumped, picking leaves out of his hair and attempting to tame it somewhat with his fingers.

"Is there a… shower I can use?"

Pomfrey pointed him toward the back of the infirmary and bustled off, marking notes in his file with soft clicks of her tongue. McGonagall stood, readjusted her robes, vanished the chair and captured him with her gaze.

"I would like to see you in my office when you are presentable, Mister Malfoy. I am afraid, due to these developments we must contact your family – questions need answers, especially in this situation. Furthermore, I must withhold you from classes until a suitable arrangement or understanding has been reached. However, you are still responsible for your homework. Miss Parkinson, Mister Zabini, Mister Nott if you will come with me?"

The three Slytherin's nodded as Draco mentally panicked and then promised himself everything would be fine before fleeing into the showers. He pulled away the tattered remains of his shirt, silently mourning the loss as he tossed it into the waste basket and tugged down his pants and shorts before stepping beneath a hot spray of water with a groan. His muscles unclenched and relaxed beneath the assault, steam soon rising into the air as he reached for the distasteful shampoo, conditioner and then soap.

The only problem came when drying, although water didn't remain on the wings long, rising in a vapor from the heat – Draco watched them thoughtfully as he toweled off and slipped into a set of undergarments and robes provided by a house elf while he showered.

The trip to McGonagall's office was a journey spent ducking behind corners and avoiding students lingering before the class bell. So it was Draco arrived with a fair bit of agitation and twitching wings to find the Headmistress's office filled with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, his mother and Madam Pomfrey –and all of the nosey portraits peaking from beneath their eyelids as he walked in.

Narcissa was not happy, she was more than a little upset to be called to Hogwarts barely a month into the term with news something had befallen her son. The regal woman was a bomb ticking down to explode from a fuse that fizzled out the minute the door opened and Draco stepped through – wings and all with eyes studiously avoiding hers.

"Draco, dear, what happened?" Her voice only wavered a second, eyes glued to the feathered appendages which twitched and ruffled behind him.

"I'm not sure mother, I was wondering if perhaps you could tell me?"

Narcissa's eyes flashed dangerously, lips thinning as she took a seat. "Draco, you are a Malfoy and a Black. There is no taint on your blood to… cause this."

A hand flipped dismissively in the direction of her now winged son. It would be utterly embarrassing for unwanted eyes to find out such a thing – a stain on their pureblood reputation that would take generations to remove. Her gaze now moved to McGonagall as Draco folded his arms with a frown.

"When did this begin?"

"About a week into term, Mrs. Malfoy. At first, symptoms manifested which led us to believe he was developing _Opprimo Potentia_. I am sure you are aware of the implications of that?" Two eyebrows rose as McGonagall peered at the steel woman before her who closed her eyes, breathed and opened them again with a nod.

"Well, I can most definitely assure you that this is unexpected. Even should there be some creature blood within the line, it would be too far back to manifest so strongly… and I've never heard of one which manifests wings in such a manner."

Narcissa turned to peer at Draco, who shifted and watched the two women carefully. He was just ready for his mother or McGonagall to come up with some explanation so he could return to Slytherin and sleep. The day was already too long, especially having woken on the ground in the Forbidden Forest.

"Very well, Mrs. Malfoy… Mister Malfoy – when did you begin to experience strange symptoms? Sleeplessness, change in appetite – or any other abnormal happenings."

"During the summer… not long before school. I couldn't sleep and my appetite was down… it started just before the fire."

McGonagall's lips pursed, fingers tapping across the desk.

"Was there any reason? Any strange events that could have brought this about?"

Draco hesitated, brows furrowing. "Why?"

It was Blaise who answered. "Well, there was something a bit odd." His eyes flicked to Draco who forced a shrug despite the tension in his shoulders. Blaise nodded, gaze returning to McGonagall.

"We were meeting in Knockturn Alley for a bit of celebration at one of the clubs before school. It was late when we left and noticed a strange side-street. It wasn't one I've seen before, but we decided to take a look."

"Idiotic children." Narcissa hissed, eyes flashing and Blaise sat back.

"Well, we were careful – had our wands out and took it slow… but there was no one there. Just a bunch of old doors with shop signs on them. One of them was open, some sort of antique dealer. He was a bit strange… we bought some things from him. The Cleopatra vase my mother has – and…" Another glance at Draco whose lips were pursed tightly and wings shuffling in agitation.

"I bought a strange vase… rather boring thing really, filled with salt and a small box. I think it was some sort of burial urn, I've no idea why the old man had it. He said it came from Jerusalem so I decided to make the purchase… it was interesting."

"Yeah, the serpent ring came out of it too, Draco… you showed me at the Manor – remember?" Blaise gestured to the black serpent coiled on Draco's left finger and hesitantly the blond nodded.

He didn't want them to know, they should stop asking questions because – really – it wasn't their bloody business. It wasn't like he was dying now, thanks to the wings – as odd as they were. McGonagall looked perplexed, a glance up at Severus' portrait showed him the man was watching him with glittering eyes and a slight frown. Narcissa was the one who spoke.

"You wasted money on a silly burial urn from Jerusalem – where you found a ring you wore? Was there anything strange about the urn, Draco? Tell me you weren't stupid enough to buy something dangerous…" She trailed off, hands white knuckled on the chair arms and Draco scowled.

"It wasn't dangerous." Blaise shifted uncomfortably as Draco spoke.

"It did feel… odd… not Dark Magic… but not magic like at Hogwarts either." McGonagall seemed to zero in on Blaise before turning to Draco.

"Mister Malfoy, where would this… urn be now?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know? How could you not know?"

"I lost it."

Silence, Blaise narrowed his eyes and frowned almost imperceptibly. Draco was acting strange, avoiding questions, leaving things out he normally would not. As though he didn't want them to find the urn, to even be asking at all of the agitated twitches in those wings were anything to go by. Then again, the appendages could just be that way – wasn't as though his friend had much control over them. McGonagall was sitting forward marginally, suspicion on her face.

"What does it matter, about the urn? Objects can't do things like this to wizards can they?" His voice ran off, a question tinged with worry.

"We aren't sure Mister Malfoy, there are some artifacts in this world older than modern memory. Dark artifacts have a distinctive feel, yet so does the magic we are familiar with. Strange magic, especially magic tied to such a symbolic item, needs to be investigated. Considering the insistence it cannot be from your ancestry."

Draco nodded, a frown at the ends of his lips. Wasn't this over? He didn't know where the urn was… well, he sort of did… but that wasn't their business. Besides, the very idea of touching or being near the thing made his skin crawl.

"Now, may we take a look at the ring?"

Draco released the ring his fingers played over, resisting the urge to cover it and turn away from them with a hiss and glare. Instead he stepped forward and offered out his hand without removing the ring. McGonagall's lips pursed and Narcissa raised a brow.

"Can you not remove it?" Draco shook his head silently and both women seemed surprised.

Narcissa reached forward, fingers barely touching the serpent before a high, angry hiss issued from it and with a gasp she jerked her hand back to peer at blistered fingertips. Draco paled, reaching out for his mother but she waved him away and healed the blemishes with ease, eyes turning back to the ring which writhed about on Draco's finger as though her presence aggravated it. McGonagall stared silently before raising her wand.

The first spell hit and the serpent hissed again, the second bounced off and the third sank into the jewelry before the serpent reared back from Draco's finger and snapped its jaws open with a warning hiss before lowering down and stilling once more.

"I think it's enchanted… or I assumed it was when I picked it up and it moved like an actual snake." He didn't mention thinking it was a statue before it morphed into a ring and coiled about his hand.

"Indeed it does look like an enchantment, but it is far more resilient than any I've seen before. Most jewelry is not animated to behave as though alive, although given its origins…" McGonagall shook her head but Narcissa was nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, it is likely very old, using magic foreign to us but could very likely have been common during the time of its crafting. Runes may also be lending it power, or perhaps an animal spirit was sealed within. It is not common but I have heard rumor of such things."

Generally in the Dark Arts portions of society where such rumors were sought after for many reasons, some to experiment, some seeking more power in any way they could.

"Well, I do believe there is little else we can do now besides speculate until more information comes to light. Mister Malfoy, you are excused – please return to your dormitory and do try to keep out of sight of the other students. Mister Zabini – if you would remain here a moment?"

Blaise nodded as his friends left, Draco casting a suspicious look over his shoulder before following Pansy and Theo through the door. Narcissa too, remained behind and McGonagall sighed as she stood and drummed her fingers on the table.

"I have many questions and suspicions… but none can be answered or put to rest until we find this urn or a way to remove the ring and disenchant it. I do believe Mister Malfoy was withholding information, although I cannot understand why."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Yes, he wouldn't have mentioned the ring to you at all… and when I asked about the urn while visiting he brushed it off as unimportant, but he was rather taken with it when he purchased it."

Narcissa nodded, lips in a thin line. She wanted the situation done and over with and her beloved son back to being as he should – not with hideous, animal appendages on his shoulders and health-threatening habits forming.

"I shall return to the Manor to search for the urn. Hopefully I will return very soon and we may set to work." McGonagall nodded as the blonde woman vanished into the floo with a farewell.

"Mister Zabini, during the next weekend would you please return to Knockturn Alley and seek out the shop which sold the urn? If you can, I would like more information on this item and the man who sold it." Blaise nodded, though a bit hesitantly.

"Professor, I can look but there is no guarantee of finding it… given the street didn't seem to be a normal addition to the Alley, or perhaps it is simply masked by powerful charms."

McGonagall nodded her understanding and dismissed him. When the office was empty, she turned to gaze out of the window, silently wishing for one normal year.


	8. Auxilium

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

**.**

**Chapter 8:**

**Auxilium**

**.**

**.**

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy stepped regally through emerald green flames into the parlor of Malfoy Manor, chilled blue eyes sweeping the floor and walls as she absently waved away the soot on her robes. Lucius wasn't present, it would seem, likely tucked away somewhere with his books or at a fellow aristocrats office reworking connections. Azkaban they may have avoided, but there was much work to be done to repair their standing and the once vast network of eyes and ears.

"Tipsy."

A small _pop _and a small house elf with a green bow tied at one ear wearing an equally green shawl with the Malfoy emblem draped about her like a toga appeared, dipping into a low bow.

"Yes Mistress?"

"There is an object hidden in the Manor, I don't know where it is. It is an urn, or vase – likely to be protected and holds strange magic. You shall help me search for it, should you find it come to me immediately – do not touch it. Understood?"

"Yes Mistress, Tipsy be searching right away."

With another _pop _ the little elf was gone and Narcissa swept through the parlor with the intent to search her son's room before anywhere else. It was an obvious place, but every room in the manor was equipped with hidden compartments and spaces for just such occasions to hide something. Narcissa knew her son, there was little doubt in her mind he hadn't simply 'lost' this urn but hidden it somewhere. Why, she hadn't a clue.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table, practically starving from the early morning Quidditch practice and more than ready to tuck into the food before him. It was lunch now, but breakfast felt like it was yesterday. With fork halfway to his mouth, green eyes flicked up and across the hall, sweeping the Slytherin table as they were won't to do, most especially since sixth year.

The eggs never made it to his lips, brows furrowing in wonder. He usually took Malfoy's presence for granted, a constant that was always present in his Hogwarts life. However, it seemed to dawn only then that it was quite some time since he'd last seen the blonde.

"Hermione? When was the last time you saw Malfoy? Has he been showing for meetings?"

Hermione paused, looking thoughtful before settling her book on the table and glancing over at the Slytherin table. This wasn't a time for asking why Harry cared, not after their mutual agreement to keep an eye on any strange behavior since the fire.

"It has been several days… I really hadn't thought anything of it."

A furrow appeared between her brows as Harry nodded. Yes, it had been some time. At least three days, she mentally reckoned – thinking back to the last run-in she had with the blonde.

"He's been gone since McGonagall asked to see my map… he didn't show for classes that day and Zabini, Parkinson and Nott all showed up late. The Slytherin's don't look worried… but those three have been tight lipped. Usually, Parkinson is the loudest when something's up with Malfoy."

Hermione raised a brow and Harry glared at her, as though the simple expression was a direct insult to his intelligence. Not like it took a great deal of observation, not at the volume Parkinson ranted at – from true worry or simple attention Harry wasn't sure.

"Why don't you just check the map? Maybe he's sick or something…"

Although not sounding sure of her idea, Hermione seemed to not think much of it – still recalling Madam Pomfrey's orders to 'take it easy'. Harry nodded, finished his lunch and made a beeline for the dormitory.

Locating the Marauders Map was simple enough, Harry took care of the possession and kept it stored safely in his trunk when not in use. Digging out the parchment, he opened it and muttered 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good', and waited patiently as a delicate, spider web of ink swirled across the tattered parchment. His eyes flicked quickly over names, easily dismissing the bunch still gathered in the Great Hall. Malfoy was easy to find, his name hovered stationary in his dorm in Slytherin. Perhaps Hermione was right? There was really no reason to suspect he was up to something or something strange was going on so long as the name was there – he could likely be sleeping, it wasn't unheard of for a few of the upper year students to snatch a meal in the kitchens.

With a shrug Harry released the enchantment and tucked the map into the pocket of his robes. He would check again later, see if there was a change.

**.**

* * *

**.**

A weekend filled with studying – or supposed studying but really goofing with Ron in the library – wasn't exactly Harry's idea of fun. Neither was an irate Hermione, who insisted they had to study most diligently in preparation, not only for winter finals but for their NEWTs at the end of the year. Harry and Ron, as usual blew this off, after all they still had months to go before studying really became necessary. With the holidays between them and exams, it seemed a lifetime away.

So it was with sore eyes and the beginning of a headache that Harry slouched into the dorm with Ron in tow. Neville was already there, buttoning his sleep shirt and murmuring to a new rare plant he'd been gifted. He glanced up with a smile as Ron and Harry entered, having spent the day with Luna himself, he was more than content to flop into bed and sleep for a good ten hours… or twelve.

"Hey Harry, Ron. Enjoying the weekend?" Both boys groaned.

"If you can call rotting away in the library enjoyment then sure, Neville." Harry groused, removing his glasses and tugging off his clothes.

"Hermione?"

The boy asked, amusement on his face as he fluffed a pillow. Ron grunted in affirmation, already flat of his back in bed and half asleep. Nothing put one's mind on dreams like a day spent bent over a book.

"Have fun with Luna?" Harry teased, smirking as he too flopped into bed.

Neville turned an interesting shade of pink but smiled. Though he'd grown more outspoken, more self-confident, some things would forever be the same. Harry was grateful for this, after all everyone lost in the war it was nice to have stability.

"Yeah, she really is great."

The dreamy quality of Neville's voice had Ron and Harry snickering but they were cut off with a well-placed 'shove off' as Neville snapped his bed-hangings closed. Harry and Ron followed shortly after with 'good nights' all around. Although now that he was in the privacy of his own bed, sleep was the last thing on Harry's mind as he pulled out the Marauder's Map and waited for Ron's snores to grow in volume before activating it and murmuring a soft _Lumos _to read by.

It took a bit longer to find the name this time, Harry's eyes immediately went toward Slytherin but didn't find it there. Malfoy's three cronies were all dispersed into their dorms – so likely they didn't even realize their house mate was gone. Emerald shot across the parchment, searching out every nook and cranny of the parts of Hogwarts displayed to him. It wasn't until his eyes skimmed across the second floor that Harry got a glimpse of the moving name, his eyes darted back, fixing on the slowly moving dot which paused at every corner as though checking for teachers and students.

'_Odd.' _Harry thought, brows furrowing, Malfoy was Head Boy, he could easily come up with an excuse for being out of bed at such an hour, yet he seemed bent on not being seen. So, with hardly another thought the Gryffindor extinguished he light, grabbed the parchment and his robe and tugged the Invisibility Cloak from its place beneath his pillow.

Safely out of sight and with the map to warn him of others, Harry made his way down to the common room and out of the portrait, ignoring the mutterings of the Fat Lady as his sprinted as quietly as possible down the stairs. Shame Gryffindor was so far from the entrance, and by the time Harry's feet touched the ground floor Malfoy's dot was already beyond the doors. Stuffing it into a pocket, not bothering to disenchant it, Harry quickly followed after, slipping through the doors and searching out the white blonde hair.

It really didn't take long to spot the pale color in the night, the moonlight seemed to dance across Malfoy's head as he slipped across the grounds toward the Forbidden Forest. His shoulders were hunched at an odd angle that gave the impression he was bent over, but Harry hadn't time to think of such things – if he lost sight of the Slytherin in the forest there was no way he'd find him again.

Grass and leaves crunched beneath his trainers and Harry winced with each sound, just knowing that it was like a thunderclap of noise across the soundless grounds. Malfoy seemed to move with a strange grace, and Harry couldn't make out any noise of his passing above that of his own hurried steps. Mentally berating himself for his noise and to ask Hermione about silencing smells to muffle his movement, he continued on into the line of trees.

It seemed to be an eternity before Malfoy's movements slowed and the two were coming upon a clearing. Immediately Harry's hair stood on end from the feel of the place, a strange magic floating about that felt neither dark nor warm and familiar as other magic around Hogwarts. It was a strange sensation, like stepping beneath a lukewarm shower, or being disillusioned and for the life of him he couldn't recall ever before stumbling upon a place like this. And Harry had had his fair share of excursions into the Forbidden Forest to be more familiar with it than he'd really like.

"Potter."

Harry froze, eyes widening as they jerked up from the roots he was carefully navigating to Malfoy who stood in the center of the clearing. Harry's breath froze in his lungs as he took in the Slytherin, standing closer to the shadows – away from the moonlight with an indifferent expression and guarded eyes. It wasn't his posture that froze the Gryffindor, however, but the set of dark appendages rising behind Malfoy's shoulders. He remained still, eyes narrowed, just in case it was the blonde's paranoia that led him to believe he was followed than actual knowledge.

There was a heavy sigh, gray eyes flicking away from Harry and a frown pulling at Malfoy's lips.

"I know you're there. I could hear you as soon as you left Hogwarts. Like a herd of Hippogriffs you make so much noise."

Mentally grumbling Harry scowled and tugged off the cloak, stepping the rest of the way into the clearing, eyes never leaving what he was sure were wings.

"Malfoy. Odd place to come roaming in the middle of the night." The blonde quirked a brow, gaze fixing back on him.

"Odd that you followed me. I suppose there never is an end to your paranoia though is there, oh Chosen One?" Harry scowled more at the title, eyes narrowing and chin jutting out.

"What are… those?"

He asked, instead of biting back – which seemed to through Malfoy's smirk into another blank mask. He gestured vaguely to the wings. A moment ticked by, Harry took another step and Malfoy smirked again, freezing the Gryffindor as he too stepped forward, the appendages flicked out broadly. They didn't really look strong enough to carry a human in flight, but magic radiated from them like a physical heat that almost staggered Harry.

"Wings, Potter, unless your glasses are malfunctioning."

"Why the bloody hell do you have _wings_?" Was Harry's incredulous reply, nose scrunching but still transfixed. The other shrugged as though it didn't matter but Harry picked up the tenseness in his shoulders nonetheless.

"Woke up with them." Blunt, clipped, telling the Gryffindor he wasn't at all welcomed here.

"Right. Which completely explains why you're out here."

"Well, if you had wings what would _you _do with them?"

Harry snickered despite himself, shaking his head. He'd try to fly of course, but why fly next to the castle where any night owl student could potentially see? Especially since Harry figured the wings were the reason for Malfoy's absence in classes. The forest was much safer.

"Don't the centaurs show?" They weren't exactly the most friendly of creatures and highly territorial of the forest, this clearing was rather deep in. Harry imagined it definitely encroached on their 'territory'.

"They watch, but none of them say anything. So long as I stay here I suppose it isn't an issue. Perhaps they don't consider me much of a wizard anymore."

Despite his nonchalant shrug, the words were spat with an underlying bitterness that made Harry wonder. At first, he assumed Malfoy didn't know why he had the wings – it was implied in his body language and response. But now, perhaps it could be that he did – and simply didn't want to admit to that why. Harry felt an ember of triumph, if Malfoy had wings that didn't seem to be the work of a bad spell because he wasn't in Pomfrey's care – then it could only be one other thing.

"What's wrong Malfoy, blood not so pure?"

Wrong thing to say. Most definitely but no time to take it back because those gray eyes snapped to Harry and filmed over in rage, a red glimmer sparking in their depths that sent a chill of primitive fear down Harry's spine. His hand flew to his wand, raising it even as he took a step back, eyes narrowed as though waiting for the Slytherin to draw his own. Malfoy's shoulders were tensed and his wings twitched angrily, jaw locked with a pulsing muscle.

"My blood is perfectly pure. Which comes to the problem of not knowing the reason for my suddenly sprouting wings."

The anger swept away as quickly as it'd come but Harry didn't miss the thrum of magic in the air and it left him to wonder if drawing his wand would've done anything at all. The temperature suddenly dropped, he hadn't noticed it rose with the sudden burst of adrenaline – but with the abrupt change in mood it was like a shock that left him momentarily speechless.

"Does this have to do with you not playing Quidditch?"

Malfoy sighed, seeming incredibly put off by the questions but nodded anyway.

"I would assume so. Pomfrey thought it was a degenerative disorder that would cause my magic to kill me… before these."

He gestured flippantly, voice light as he turned away from Harry who stood, struck dumb by the blunt words. He didn't know such a disorder existed!

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd rather be left to my activities in peace. You aren't exactly the most enjoyable of company."

Harry rolled his eyes at the biting comment, but didn't say anything and didn't move. Malfoy seemed to realize this and he sighed again, a heavy, weary sigh of deepest annoyance that made Harry smirk to have caused it with little more than his presence.

"Well then, if you're going to stay – be a good little Gryffindor and keep quiet."

With that Malfoy crouched and leapt up, wings spreading and beating downward as they bore him to the air with an enviable ease. Harry watched him a while, thinking on the double meaning in the git's statement. Keep quiet, don't mention it to his friends. Well, he would most definitely be mentioning this to Hermione and Ron – it was just another too-coincidental occurrence after finding out about that sigil – and Hermione did want them to watch out for any strange behavior. Harry rather considered sprouting wings overnight to be more than a little strange. Especially since Malfoy seemed so assured there wasn't reason to suspect his own genes.

When Harry finally departed the clearing, he could have sworn he heard Malfoy mutter and oath about his scarred head. The Gryffindor shook his head, donning his cloak and slipping back through the castle and up to his dorm where he fell quickly asleep.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Lucius Malfoy meandered about the Manor in search of his wife, having been quite surprised to be greeted back home after his extended business trip by a house elf and not his beloved wife. A bit put out by this, the man made it immediate priority to seek out the woman and it was proving a tedious process to indulge.

However, when he _did _find her, it was in a most unexpected of situations. Narcissa Malfoy was hovering over a hole in the back wall of their son's closet, muttering instructions to a pair of house elves who seemed to be terrified to be destroying their Master's property – although Narcissa had no such reservations as she ordered them on.

"Narcissa?"

The woman's words died and her blue eyes snapped to him. Immediately a smile bloomed on her lips and she glided from the closet with outstretched arms. Lucius extended a hand, still rather confused as she grasped it, placing the other against his cheek and offering a chaste kiss before stepping back.

"What is going on?"

The smile slipped away and her eyes grew troubled, she gestured him to follow her and together they slipped into the large closet – devoid of clothing to protect it from the dust and debris of the wall. Inside the hole, stood the two house elves, carefully moving bits and pieces away from a small, cleared space where an urn sat covered in heavy wards. Or as heavy as an eighteen year old could manage, and given the number of books Draco had read and studying under Severus, was quite extensive.

"It would seem our son has been hiding something from us… it has caused recent developments that are most alarming."

Lucius' gaze was sharp as it returned to his wife, who watched him steadily.

"Developments?"

"Indeed. It would appear, Draco was diagnosed with an infirmary which has recently been proven incorrect. Seeing as how he has grown wings."

Lucius was silent but his face clouded in rage, eyes darkening and the grip on his cane tightening.

"What?" The word was hissed and spat and Narcissa placed a hand on his arm to reassure him.

"It is no taint to his blood, Lucius. Other strange factors are at work here, and all of these began when he purchased this from a shop in Knockturn Alley. He has been most secretive and when questioned about it attempted to divert attention – claimed he lost the urn. He is quite defensive of it. I found that curious, so I went in search of it."

Both Malfoys turned back to the urn and with a sigh began to dissemble the wards surrounding it. It was tedious work, time consuming and when they were done Lucius' nose crinkled in distaste at the magic emanating from the urn. It was weak, barely a trickle and he could not understand what possessed his son to buy such an object.

"I will take this to Headmisstress McGonagall. Blaise is paying a return visit to the salesman this very weekend while the other students are in Hogsmeade."

Lucius nodded carefully, not rebuking his wife for placing trust in McGonagall. She was a highly intelligent witch and wouldn't broadcast this delicate situation as would happen at the Ministry or in St. Mungo's.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Draco lay spread out on his stomach across his bed, wings draped across his shoulders and down his sides, the tips fanned out against the floor. The dorm was empty, thank Merlin, because he was in a right foul mood. Likely the most foul he'd been in since everything started. He wanted peace, silence and solitude – although with Pansy constantly peaking in around the door that was whittling down quickly. He wasn't going to turn over and _die _he sprouted wings! Not a second head. Still, Draco couldn't deny that her concern was touching… in a way. Not that he'd ever admit it – especially not to her. He'd never live it down.

To top it all off, his back ached fiercely. He'd flown longer than usual last night and while magic fueled the majority of his flight, some of it still came down to muscles he hadn't yet developed properly. The plan wasn't to keep the wings, because there was no way a Malfoy walked around with _wings _– but Draco was a Slytherin and while he had them, he planned to enjoy them seeing as they were cumbersome in everything else. Flight without a broom was… freeing. It was different and new, and glorious. It was his own body propelling him through the skies, his own magic – instead of relying on an inanimate object powered by his magic. The chances of his wings randomly falling off in flight was far less than a broom malfunctioning, no matter the maker.

Thoughts of his flight, however, inevitably led Draco to the darkest of his thoughts. Bloody Potter. Potter who couldn't keep his nose out of other people's business – especially Draco's and who followed him from the castle to the Forbidden Forest. True, Draco could've called him on his stalking long before they reached the clearing, but he somehow imagined frightening to stupid Gryffindor with the power radiating about the clearing, left from his… transformation, and the sight of his wings. Should have known he was hoping in vain though, the idiot didn't have a single cell of self-preservation in the entirety of his stunted, bed-ragged, hideous body.

With a grunt Draco adjusted his position, stretched and with a yawn allowed his head to hit the pillow once more, lids falling closed as he relaxed into a semi-peaceful state. Perhaps more sleep would improve his mood – and silence the voice that whispered in the back of his mind. Told him secrets about this new power, how much of it he could wield, how boundless the possibilities. It told him he could fly, told him how to work the wings, told him his magic could summon an all-consuming fire – a fire that ate away at magic and could turn his enemies to cinders should he will it.

A fire like that which ravaged the ballroom and Room of Requirement.

Draco shivered, turning his face away from the voice, a hiss in his thoughts he was certain wasn't spoken in English but made perfect sense to him. It was another anomaly, just like the snakes. They followed him in the forest, they watched as he practiced and crept close for a touch or a word. Draco – being a Slytherin and quite proud of that – had a natural inclination toward the reptiles, and while he never stooped to touch or handle one he found himself tossing needless comments to them, empty conversation or remarks based on new discoveries of his abilities.

With a yawn he adjusted position again, thoughts ebbing and flowing as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

**.**

* * *

**.**

Harry rolled from bed after a fitful night of sleep, he wasn't sure how many hours, but it felt to be far too few. Bleary eyed and unbalanced, the young man stumbled to his night table and shoved glasses up his nose, eyes squinting about the still slumbering dorm. Grumbling about sleeping wankers who snore too loud, he snatched up towels and clothes before vanishing out of the dorm and into the showers.

The water was hot and delicious and did a fair job rousing his brain further from sleep. With swirling thoughts, all he could really focus on was relaying information back to Hermione and seeing what she had to say. That decided, Harry stepped from the shower, toweling dry and pulling on clean clothes before finishing up his morning routine and trudging back to his dorm to shake Ron awake for breakfast and slip down to the common room where Hermione was curled reading a book and yawning intermittently.

"Morning 'Mione." The girl looked up and smiled as she shook her book.

"Oh good, you're awake. I thought I'd have to come and wake you myself." She chuckled softly and stood with a stretch just as Ron stumbled down the stairs with drooping eyes.

"Listen, about the exorcisms book – I found a sealing ritual but it's extremely advanced and I don't understand much of it."

Harry blinked, surprised by this – Hermione Granger not knowing something? He smirked and she huffed, eyes narrowing as they headed out of the common room.

"Honestly, it's extremely advanced, archaic magic! I am just saying we'll probably need some help."

"So… er… who exactly would be able to help us with something like this?" Harry questioned as he sat down at the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked pensive before shrugging.

"Not sure, really… perhaps one of the Professors? Or we could ask Dumbledore's portrait…"

The girl trailed off as Harry made a face but in the end shrugged. It was still a bit awkward, going to see the portrait, it still stirred up memories of the war, of the things left unsaid – of Dumbeldore's death. Harry had dealt with that, in a way, but it still hurt – a twinge compared to the all-consuming rage and despair before.

"He's more likely to tell us some ridiculous riddle…" Harry grumped but nodded his head to let Hermione know he wasn't too serious. She smiled and returned to breakfast.

"I can't believe you two really believe the git is behind this."

Ron grumbled before cramming a chunk of pancake into his mouth and following it up with a cut of sausage. Hermione's face went green before twisting in disgust – she never could stomach Ron's table manners even being in a relationship with the red-head. Although, he did occasionally think to refrain himself – after she berated him enough… not very often though.

"He's the only one acting strangely Ron, now come on, let's head down to Hogmeade."

Ron grunted that his wasn't done eating but with a look from Hermione stood and followed she and Harry out of the Great Hall where they ran into an irritated looking Blaise Zabini. Well, the boy was as irritated looking as was possible for him. He was _tense _and his eyes shadowed with trouble – Harry could easily guess what that was given the state he'd seen Malfoy in. Which brought to mind his lack of informing Hermione at breakfast. Zabini was already making his way off when inspiration struck Harry.

"Zabini." He called firmly, giving the Slytherin pause and Harry approached quickly.

"What is it, Potter?" The drawl was unmistakable but the shift in stance spoke agitation.

"I want to ask about Malfoy." The hushed whisper seemed to echo in the entrance way and Zabini's eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion.

"Why Potter?"

"I've seen him."

Hermione looked at Harry strangely and Ron hung back with a petulant expression, his breakfast ruined for Hogsmeade was one thing – but for Malfoy? The red-head was sure that it went against every instinct and cell of his body to actually be standing here. He knew it was a lost cause though, once Harry got going on something he and Hermione were mostly along for the ride – but Hermione seemed concerned about this too.

"Follow me." Was the simple reply as Zabini gestured to them and the group made their way to an empty classroom which was quickly silenced and locked.

"What do you know?" It was Hermione who spoke, stepping forward with a glance to Harry.

"We don't know anything for certain, only that we found some interesting information after investigating the burnt Room of Requirement. We've merely been keeping an eye out for odd behavior since then."

Blaise looked interested but his eyes shifted to Harry who ran a hand through his hair.

"Forgot to mention this to you 'Mione… I ran into Malfoy last night leaving the castle… didn't know it was common for wizards to sprout wings."

Ron choked somewhere behind him and Zabini's jaw ticked while his eyes narrowed. Harry held firm, they didn't need to know he couldn't quite shirk his habit of following Malfoy and his behavior was incredibly odd. Blaise sighed eventually, reclining against a desk with crossed arms.

"First, tell me what you know, it may not have anything to do with Draco and I'm not selling out a friend."

Hermione nodded while Ron grunted but held silent with a scowl on his face and folded arms. He really wasn't interested in running around…

"We found a sigil in the center of the room after the fire, it obviously wasn't there when the Ministry arrived or they would have found it. We went the night it happened which is probably the only reason we saw it."

Blaise nodded, thinking back to the fire at the Manor – he could see why Hermione drew this parallel and his gaze fixed back on the girl as she began removing several pieces of parchment from her bag – offering him one and gesturing to the symbol sketched onto it. A symbol he recognized.

"That is the sigil we saw… after doing some research I found information on a demon named Astaroth. Even in the wizarding world, demons seem a bit far-fetched so I also researched creatures with similar descriptions and found some information on the Djinn."

Hermione took the parchment he offered back to her and the dark-skinned wizard ran his hand across his scalp with a sigh.

"I'm assuming your findings are what led you to look for odd behavior. May I ask why?"

Hermione hesitated a moment, eyes guarded as she watched the Slytherin. "Well, both are mentioned to be capable of inhabiting a human body. They didn't mention what effects this… possession would have, seeing as there are none recorded by wizards and simply what legend says."

Blaise seemed to tense further and he sighed, rubbing at his face.

"These demons, you said they are similar to Djinn? Does this mean they are or can be spirits?" Hermione nodded.

"Yes but they are more powerful, just as Djinn are." Blaise again nodded.

"Would it be possible to trap one?" Hermione's eyes gleamed.

"Theoretically. There is no proof, merely story passed through muggle beliefs of a King named Solomon who sealed seventy-two demons within individual vessels of brass…"

Blaise straightened, abruptly with a nod to Hermione and Harry, seeming to have come to a decision.

"I am on my way to Knockturn Alley to speak with a man who sold something interesting to Draco this summer. I need to ask him about it, perhaps you should come as well – you have information in more detail than I do and there isn't time now to try and absorb it."

Hermione and Harry nodded, Ron groaned, kissing his Hogsmeade trip good bye to run off to Knockturn Alley with a Slytherin. Granted, the house relations had slightly improved since the war, especially to those involved trying to make amends, but that didn't mean they were all buddy-buddy to be running off solving mysteries together.

Blaise motioned them to follow him and together the three Gryffindors and single Slytherin left the castle.

"Does McGonagall know?" Stupid question really but Hermione couldn't help but ask. Blaise smirked.

"Of course. She was the one who ordered me to pay him a visit. I just hope it shows up."

"Excuse me?" Harry cut in abruptly with narrowed eyes, Zabini still hadn't given them much information which didn't sit well with him.

"The shop appeared in the evening, rather late, on a street neither of us has seen before. It was a bit of an accident we found it, but I remember where it was. I visited yesterday but didn't find anything… perhaps there are special wards on it. I'm not sure but we must find it today, our being gone during the weekend will not be noticed as it would during the week."

Harry blinked at the explanation, trying in vain to recall a time he'd heard Zabini speak so much at one time. It was rather impressed, considering the other seemed given to single responses or facial expressions to make a point. Ron groaned.

"Great, wasting a perfectly good weekend to trot off and help solve the Malfoy mystery and we don't even know for certain if we can find anything?"

Blaise shot the red-head a scathing look.

"No one is making you come, Weasley. Go along and play with the other Gryffindors if you're so worried about your relaxation."

Ron huffed, eyes narrowing in anger but Hermione paused, biting her lip and turned to the ginger, she placed a kiss on his cheek that turned Blaise's stomach – knowing he could've lived his entire life without watching the exchange.

"Ron, just go to Hogsmeade, Harry and I will go with Blaise." He started to argue but her eyes narrowed to slits and lips thinned and he knew the argument was over. With a final huff, a quick kiss for his girlfriend, a scathing look for Zabini and Ron changed direction to find Seamus and Dean.

**.**

* * *

**.**

The scratching of a quill died out, leaving the room in a stiff silence as Draco sat back from his Potions essay and rubbed a hand at his chest with a grimace. The entirety of his insides were writhing with anxiety he couldn't place.

'_It's here.' _

But what was here? He knew it was bad, it meant bad things were coming, things he couldn't' allow to happen – but not what it was. The blonde ran a hand through his hair, tugging gently at the ends before releasing the soft tresses with a sigh, he closed his eyes, focused. An image came unbidden of the urn he'd bought over summer, emanating with magic, with danger – danger for him. Draco growled suddenly, standing with flashing eyes rimmed in black and red, pupils pinpricks in the center of glowing silver.

They would try to imprison him again?

'_Again?' _

He'd never been imprisoned before… the world swam and he swayed where he stood with a grunt and a grimace. Yes, they would try to lock him away in that urn – his magic, power, _essence _and it couldn't be allowed. The voice whispering at the back of his thoughts with insurmountable knowledge demanded it not be allowed. So it wouldn't be. Draco was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, he would not be so easily caught and brought down by fools seeking to lock him away.

With a sharp pivot he turned and glided from the room, robes billowing and wings twitching in agitation as he made through the empty common room and into the dungeon corridors. An abrupt right and he was striding down the halls, deeper into the dungeons, he would hide for now – hide and plot how to keep them away and destroy that damned vessel.

Stone cried beneath nails that'd curved into claws as Draco strode along with a confident smirk, digging his claws across the stone, watching lethargically as sparks hissed from the friction and heat of his body. A visit the previous day to Madam Pomfrey showed is body temperature spiked again, higher now – to the point it caused her concern but he'd never felt better. Never felt more in control of power that came with the unsightly side-effect of these wings. A shame there was no way to remove them, a fixture of his appearance but one he was certain he could turn to his advantage after he demonstrated the power they brought, the proof his blood was still pure.

An excuse, an explanation is what he needed and with barely a thought he twisted and changed direction for the library. It would require research. He would need to find explanations – manifestations of magic taking on a form the wizard had affinity for. Surely he could find something, what with his own love of flight, the natural aptitude – his magic merely twisted his subconscious desires into something physical.

But first, the damned urn had to be destroyed. Only problem was, he hadn't an idea how to destroy it. It was imbibed with magic holding it stable, making it powerful enough to contain the essence imprisoned within.


	9. Ambrosia

**Summary: **A holiday excursion into Knockturn alley leads Blaise and Draco to a rather odd side-alley housing unnamed shops – and from within one of these shops a strange artifact that roots itself firmly in Draco's subconscious. Strange and unusual things begin to happen with his increased fixation.

**Pairings:** None

**Rating: **M

**Warnings: **Not Epilogue compliant or DH compliant; set after HBP in make-up 7th year ; Dark themes, graphic imagery, questionable twisting of information, violence

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**Chapter 9:**

**Ambrosia **

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The Floo within the Leaky Cauldron flared to life and out stepped Blaise Zabini, shortly followed by Harry and Hermione. The three exchanged looks and a nod before making their way through Diagon Alley, meandering on the edges of shops, walking far enough apart not to draw attention. Blaise led the way, slipping through shoppers with a subtle ease which Harry and Hermione struggled to replicate. They almost lost sight of the Slytherin as he turned into Kockturn Alley – but followed with a surreptitious glance about. Blaise waited them just inside, nodding and turning to continue onward. It was already noon, evening seemed hours away but Blaise wanted to check other parts of the alley to make sure the location didn't move.

Witches and wizards swathed in black shifted by them, casting suspicious glances at the two well-known faces daring to make appearance in their haven. None attempted an attack, it would be imprudent to do so in the light of day with the Ministry watching the alley so closely. So they shuffled on with nothing but a scathing look. Harry and Hermione ignored this, far used to it since the war. They ignored the shouts of vendors and the repulsive items set on proud display in the grimy windows of some of the stores. Others slipped by notice, carefully warded to deter attention save for those who knew the insides of the shop and what questions to ask to obtain what they desired.

Blaise had to smirk to himself at the idea of the Gryffindors in Knockturn Alley, a place of Dark Arts and darker denizens. He wondered if they feared it would rub off on them, certainly Weasley would – though Granger seemed more intrigued by the notion, having only ever been down the alley under duress and with a set destination in mind. Neither she nor Harry knew of the clubs and bars and sweet shops and decadent clothing outlets that could be found behind the dirty facades. They would probably collapse in shock at how very similar it was to their own 'world'. Blaise sneered at the thought, keep his face directed forward but eyes constantly roving, glancing off faces and double checking shadowed corners.

Well, he might as well be the one to disillusion them – better than allowing their prejudices to turn more ill favor toward his favorite haunt. The Slytherin paused abruptly, Harry and Hermione jerking to a stop behind him with furrowed brows. He smirked and gestured to the small pub. It looked run down, with shadowed windows, cracked glass and a sign faded nearly past recognition. Harry made a face at the place.

"We're not going in there?" Blaise's smirk grew.

"Of course. It would look incredibly shifty for us to wander up and down the alley all day and we've hours to burn before the sun sets."

Hermione nodded hesitantly and Blaise pushed the door open, stepping inside the humid interior. Harry and Hermione followed, stopping with twin looks of surprised as their gazes shifted about the interior of the pub. A most unexpected interior, given the outward looks.

"Well, this is nothing like Bogin and Burke." Harry commented offhandedly.

"Borgin and Burke isn't meant to be inviting, the man hordes his wares – selling them is only secondary. Hence the ridiculous prices."

Hermione nodded again to this, gaze busy sliding over the polished ebony wood of the bar and tables set about the room. A Wizard Wireless was set in a far corner around a small clustering of dark, leather chairs and was currently broadcasting the latest Quidditch standings. An enchanted fireplace, crackling with green flames emerged from the stone walls as though carved from them, lending a green peel to the dark furniture. No lights or portraits lined the bare walls, but several mounted heads of magical creatures stood as decoration. The tables each bore a small sconce covered with glass and flickering with magical flames, leaving the lighting low and demure. A glance back showed the shadowed quality of the window from outside was due to heavy black drapes drawn across the glass and blocking out the sunlight. The place felt of darker magic, not crawling as Voldemort's but a soft twang on the air that had Harry's hair standing up.

Blaise looked thoroughly relaxed in the dark atmosphere as he strolled the bar where a tall man with pale, pointed feature and black hair and a goatee stood pouring a draft of Firewhiskey from a large barrel. His pale eyes glimmered in the backlight of the bar which displayed a vast array of liquors Harry hadn't been aware were available in the wizarding world. There was, of course, various bottles of wine and then what looked like smaller decanters of whiskey or scotch along with a multitude of clear liquids in glasses sculpted to perfection. Some in the shape of Merfolk and others merely twisted abstracts with layers of color or a garnish of gold or silver. Expensive. The place reeked of luxury even with the muted atmosphere. It lacked the sweat and musk smell of The Three Broomsticks and was cleaned of any speck of dust, unlike the Hogs Head.

"Not what I was expecting." Harry commented lightly as he followed Blaise and took a seat at the bar.

"I know." He sounded smug and Hermione rolled her eyes as she sat on the opposite side of Harry.

"What shall you have?"

A silky voice inquired, grabbing Hermione and Harry's attention quickly. Blaise seemed to think for a moment but shrugged and kept with Firewhiskey. Harry ordered the same and Hermione went with Butterbeer as opposed to alcohol. The man gave her a mocking look but sailed across his stocks to bring back a glass and two bottles.

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Narcissa bent over the urn she'd brought from Malfoy Manor – it looked quite unassuming. So long as one disregarded the box with a heart tucked inside it. From her left McGonagall stood with pinched lips and wand raised. To her right stood Flitwick, standing atop a chair and peering into the urn with curious eyes.

"This magic is very strange, and the urn itself is really like nothing I've seen before. It most definitely is not Dark Arts."

Narcissa commented and McGonagall nodded, a squeak drew both of their attentions and the women turned to Filius who was pointing inside the urn with a rather awed expression on his face.

"What did you find, Filius?"

"There are runes carved on the interior walls, Minerva." The man squeaked and Narcissa followed his gesturing with a narrowed gaze.

"What sort of runes?"

"Sealing runes. I suppose the ritual would be a sort of gray one, given these, the salt – which is supposedly a purifying substance and then the heart."

"What of the ring Mister Malfoy has?" Flitwick paused, rubbing at his chin but it was Narcissa who spoke up.

"Perhaps an artifact of whatever was sealed within this."

The two Professors nodded after a moment of thought and the three stepped away from the urn. It was a puzzle they were missing many pieces to, and with the seal broken, the sigil which could have pointed them in the right direction was also gone.

"It seems strange that such a thing would be able to seal a spirit capable of possession and altering a human."

Narcissa commented lightly as she accepted the cup of tea McGonagall offered her and sat down to sip at it, eyes continuously darting to the urn with distaste. It was ugly, and given that it was highly likely whatever was trapped inside had caused Draco's changes, she had quite a few reasons to detest the thing.

"I would imagine it is a combination of sorcery and alchemy… given the properties of the urn itself, I would say this object was created to be a vessel – from start to finish."

Narcissa nodded, Flitwick was once more shuffling around the vessel, eyes searching out any other potentially missed clues – yet there were none. They would have to await Blaise's return before more could be done for the situation.

The three wizards repressed a jump when urgent pounding struck the door and a moment later Pansy was rushing into the room, an expression of urgency and worry twisting her face. McGonagall stood abruptly, lips thinning to a sharp line as she took in the girl's expression.

"What is wrong Miss Parkinson?"

"Draco… he's gone. I can't find him and Theo didn't find anything either. We returned from Hogsmeade and found the dorm empty."

The adults exchanged looks but nodded and McGonagall gestured to Flitwick.

"Professor Flitwick and I shall help you search the Castle once more. Mrs. Malfoy, if you would mind watching over the urn?"

Narcissa nodded her ascent and the trio left the room, leaving the Lady Malfoy to wander around in search of something to occupy her time and stomp out her worry for Draco.

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The day progressed rather quickly after the stiff silence was broken – helped along by a couple of Firewhiskies. Hermione consistently chastised both Blaise and Harry for getting drunk, or even slightly inebriated and mumbling about the importance of a clear head for the mission. Blaise usually waved her off with a statement about his phenomenal _stamina _with alcohol. Hermione shot him scandalized looks as Harry snickered over his Firewhiskey and from there conversation flowed rather smoothly. The sun was setting and more patrons filing into the pub and Blaise stood with a nod to his companions, they all paid and slipped from the pub and into the streets.

They were still depressingly empty, but more and more witches and wizards were beginning to return to them. The farther off the war and trials the more normalcy seemed to return – as much as it could. Eyes on alert, Blaise began a sedate stroll down the alley, hands in the pockets of his slacks and eyes fixed on the opposite side of the walk, looking for even the slightest dent between buildings.

"Oh look!"

His eyes snapped to Hermione who was gesturing ahead with a surprised expression at a man beckoning them into a side street. Blaise immediately recognized the stooped figure and waved a hand at Harry who was going for his wand with narrowed eyes.

"Relax, it's the vendor."

Both Gryffindors nodded and followed behind the Slytherin but all three kept their hands near their wands as they approached the old man. His keen eyes watched them with interest, and Blaise wondered if he was responsible for hiding the side street himself. When they drew closer, he gestured with a hand and turned silently to prowl down until he reached a door, opened it and ushered them inside.

It was the very shop Blaise and Draco visited before school, Hermione and Harry gazed around with wondrous expression on their faces and Blaise smirked, quite pleased with their bewilderment. While the shop was coated in dust, it was most definitely not the rankling mess of Borgin and Burke. It was old, with magi shifting about on the air and he faint smell of myrrh incense floating from the back room. The door closed with a silent click, and three sets of eyes followed the owner as he strode past them and toward the back.

"I am assuming you have been seeking me out, Mister Zabini?"

Hermione stiffened at the voice, obviously surprised by the quality of it. Blaise stepped forward and nodded solemnly, gesturing to his companions.

"Indeed, sir. This is Harry Potter and Hermione Granger – although I am sure you recognize them. We have a few questions about an object a friend purchased here."

The man's eyes slid between the three of them, they were blank, guarding whatever thoughts he may be having. He seemed relaxed, not at all put off or concerned by their presence – in fact, it looked almost as though he were expecting them. The milky gaze was sharp, studious, but not at all surprised by Blaise's statement.

"Indeed I do recognize your company. I am Maister Ambrosius, owner of this shop and seeker of rare artifacts – as I am sure you can gather."

He swept a hand about the space with a small smile on his lips. Harry was struck with a strange reminder of Ollivaner.

"Now, what would your questions be?"

It was Hermione who stepped forward, shoulders squared and eyes glinting. The same look she always obtained when information was within her grasp.

"You sold a brass… urn or vase to Draco Malfoy, didn't you?"

"Indeed I did, although I was quite shocked he even noticed it. The few customers I have tend to overlook such bland things. Tell me, how is it? I see he has not returned with you."

Hermione's expression withdrew, eyes narrowing and a hesitation in her voice – picking her words carefully. Blaise was content to let her lead the discussion, until it became pertinent for him to ask his own questions. After all, he still had reservations on sharing his knowledge with the Gryffindors.

"Sir, do you know what the urn was?"

Ambrosius' eyes flashed and a tight smile spread across his face.

"I am quite certain I know what it is supposed to be…" Hermione nodded, face set once more.

"What can you tell us about it? Where did you find it, or who sold it to you?"

It was Ambrosius' turn to look guarded and the old man shuffled slightly, pulling a wand and conjuring chairs, gesturing for them to sit with him as he laced bony, but long fingers together with a sigh.

"As I said, I am a collector of rare artifacts. Especially those tied to ancient civilizations. The urn was sold to me by a… well, I suppose you would call him a thief, but he was something of an archeologist. Searching out old temples and tombs, collecting magical artifacts he located."

Ambrosius tugged at his beard, eyes going distant.

"It was from Jerusalem, from a place of muggle worship – or once it was. The First Temple, as he said it was known. It made it quite an extraordinary find, really, that such an object came from a muggle place. Yet it was imbibed with magic, practically vibrating with it. Of course I bought it. It was supposed to be a sealing vessel, the sigil on the lid told me as much. It sat in my personal collection for years before I set it out for sale – more out of curiosity than anything."

Hermione scrunched her nose, pursed her lips. "Curiosity?"

"Indeed. Powerful magic draws in magical beings, almost like gravity. However, the urn sat on my shelf for years and years without a single customer so much as batting an eye lash in its direction. Until of course, Mister Malfoy purchased it."

"Do you know what was sealed inside?" Ambrosius' eyes darkened at the question.

"What was? Is the seal not still in place?"

"No sir, I do not believe it is." Blaise sat forward, speaking calmly, dispassionately as he searched out the man's body language for any tell – something to point toward this being a plot he'd devised, yet all he could find was concern.

"It has been broken?"

"We are not certain… only that unusual events have taken place – that have extended to the behavior and… appearance of Draco."

Ambrosius sat forward as Blaise sat back, fingers drumming on the arms of the chair and eyes boring into the old man's.

"What sort of physical changes would these be?"

"He sprouted wrings… What? This is taking bloody forever! The quicker we have answers the quicker we can leave." Harry grumped and sat back, but Ambrosius looked alarmed.

"Oh dear." He stood, shuffled about his counter and removed a thick tome in old, cracked leather.

"Do you believe whatever was sealed in the… vessel possessed Malfoy?" Hermione asked. "And can it be exorcised?"

Ambrosius' bark of laughter, high and shrill and bitter brought her to silence and raised the hairs at Harry's nape. The old man shuffled back around, taking a seat with the tome clutched in his hands almost reverently.

"Ahh, youth. No. You cannot exorcise what was sealed – spirits can be, mortal spirits drenched in evil can be easily cleansed from the body. Spirits such as this – demons, Djinn, the Oni of Japan – they are far too powerful for such simple methods."

Hermione appeared incredibly frustrated with the old man but she sighed, seeking out patience and bit at her lip in thought.

"How are we to remove it then? I am assuming you know what the sigil belongs to."

Ambrosius nodded solemnly. "Indeed I do. It will require an invocation, to summon it's opposite – we must draw it to the surface, pull it out and ensnare it. It is quite a complicated ritual and it may prove difficult to capture and contain your friend… depending on how far along he has developed."

"Developed?" Blaise locked down on the concern and alarm, keeping tight rein on his emotions.

"These possessions, they are not random. They are not to kill and maim – but to find a host body. Being trapped for centuries in an incorporeal form would prove trying, I'm sure. So the spirits latch on to suitable hosts and… alter them. The mortal's personality meshes with the spirits, in this case, demon's and before long the two become one… but there will likely be little left to resemble your friend by the end of it."

Blaise's grip on the chair arms tightened but he nodded. "How do we go about invoking this opposite creature and performing this ritual?"

Ambrosius smiled, his eyes flashing as he held up the book in his hands.

"It is all right here, everything you need to know. Now, perhaps we should be returning?"

The three of them seemed to smile as the old man stood, drawing his hood low over his face.

"I am not foolish, I would not set such a ritual to those with no experience – and no study."

With nods of agreement the group left the shop, which Ambrosius locked with a wave of his wand and they were on their way. The return trip through Diagon Alley drew more glances, considering they had a hooded, elderly man in tow. There wasn't the ruckus Harry had feared arising however, and they stepped through the floo in the Leaky Cauldron with only stares and a greeting from Tom.


End file.
